


The B-Teams

by grey2510



Series: Light's Grace!verse [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Case, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fallen Angel Castiel, Gen, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Castiel, POV Charlie Bradbury, POV Claire Novak, POV Dean Winchester, POV Donna Hanscum, POV Ed Zeddmore, POV Jody Mills, POV Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-14 23:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5762686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, Dean, and Cas get called in on a werewolf-vampire case by some old friends, but the case doesn't go exactly as planned. The boys discover there are maybe other ways to help in the world.</p><p>Canon-divergent after 10x14 and follows the events of the previous parts of the Light's Grace!verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunting Permits

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHH! Somehow this got deleted, so I'm posting it again. Sorry everyone!
> 
> **LG!V TIMELINE: Late August/ early September 2015**   
> 

**Minnesota**

 

“Suspect is female, mid-twenties, blonde. Took off on foot towards the trees,” Officer Doug Stover informs as he points across the field. “Witness was driving by, stopped to send a text, saw the whole thing.”

“Someone actually stopped to text?” Sheriff Donna Hanscum wonders as she side-steps a muddy puddle. Not that she’s being dainty or anything, but she’d rather not end up with the puddle _in_ her boot if it ends up being deeper than it looks. Doug’s—Officer Stover’s—moustache twitches up a bit at Donna’s remark, and her stomach does a little flip that definitely only has to do with trying to stay balanced on the uneven and treacherous terrain.

The field, such at is it, is in reality just an overgrown swath of land between the surrounding edges of woods, where electrical towers march off into the horizon. The two officers approach the cordoned-off crime scene where techs and cops have started to swarm. One group has encircled the head of the victim, the other group around the body, which are separated by a good four or five feet.

“Why dontcha go check in with the group with the body? I’ll take the head,” Donna smiles and instructs Officer Stover, who lets a flash of almost disappointment cross his face before he nods and heads over to the left side of the crime scene.

Donna frowns slightly, feeling a little guilty about sending the obviously eager and competent officer away, but there’s a reason why she’s driven out to take this case. Two separate shooting deaths in a sleepy town in one week is tragic, but not unheard of. No bullets found: a bit weird, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to cover their tracks by taking the bullets. A beheading three days later in the same place? Donna’s Spidey sense starts to tingle.

“Hi, Marcia,” Donna greets one of the techs crouched over the head of a male, 40s, possibly Hispanic. Marcia looks up from her work and waves a gloved hand at the sheriff. “How’re the kids?”

“Oh you know, keeping me on my toes,” Marcia shrugs with a laugh. “Bryce made first chair trumpet this year.”

“Tell him I say congrats,” Donna enthuses. “Lilah still playing softball?”

“Yep, but summer league is over. She’s doing cross-country for now, but I don’t think she really likes it.”

“Don’t blame her.” Donna grins and stage-whispers conspiratorially, “I been doing Cross-Fit, but I tell ya, there are days I feel like cheating on it with my couch and a pint of Double Chocolate Fudge Swirl.”

“Don’t we all,” Marcia chuckles as she stands up.

“Do you mind if I…?” Donna asks with a nod at the head while she pulls on her own set of gloves.

“Not at all,” Marcia allows, stepping back. “Guy’s got some weird dental work.”

Donna grimaces; this is exactly what she feared when she heard the police report. Gently, she pushes back the lips of the victim—if he really is that—and sees a second set of teeth above the normal ones, embedded in the gums, just waiting to descend.  

“Excuse me, FBI,” a male voice with just a hint of a Southern drawl says from behind her, and Donna immediately straightens up and turns to find a lanky man, who looks like a strong breeze would blow him over, wearing a navy-blue field jacket with ‘FBI’ in yellow letters stamped across it.

She doesn’t recognize him, but she hopes that he is actually a hunter, not some poor agent who just happened to get assigned this case.

“I’m Sheriff Donna Hanscum,” she greets him, then wiggles her gloved fingers in apology for the lack of handshake.

He gives a somewhat goofy grin in acceptance and replies, “Agent Willis. Do you mind if we talk for a minute, Sheriff?”

“You betcha,” she nods, and leads him out of earshot, pulling off the gloves as she walks.

“Now, I don’t want you to think I’m coming in and steamrolling your case,” Agent Willis assures her. “I want to catch the bad guys just as much as you, and…”

“I didn’t get any word that the FBI was coming in on this. I want to talk to your supervisor,” Donna cuts him off. Real FBI or not, one phone call will solve the mystery without her accidentally spilling the supernatural beans.

“Of course,” the man says, and digs out a business card from his wallet. “Director Morris would be happy to confirm.”

Donna tries not to raise an eyebrow as she accepts the card and pulls out her phone, but she does smile a bit to herself when her phone recognizes the number she punches in, as she thought it might.

“Director Morris,” a stern voice greets, and Donna does her best not to crack up laughing.

“Hiya, Sam. It’s Sheriff Donna Hanscum. From Minnesota? I think one of your friends is trying to take my vamp case,” Donna says.

“Wait, hold on...Donna?” Immediately, Sam’s voice switches to a far friendlier tone. Donna looks over at ‘Agent Willis’ and his eyes are wide. “Who’s the hunter?”

“Says his name is Agent Willis. Gimme a sec, I’m putting you on speaker.” She holds the phone out towards the hunter, who cracks a smile and approaches.

“Hey, Sam. Sorry I got busted. But I think we actually got a vampire-lycanthrope dealio up here.”

“Wait wait wait,” Sam cuts in. “ _Garth?_ ”


	2. We Face the Nightmare

**Kansas**

 

“You good for a coupla days?” Sam hears Dean ask as he enters the garage. His older brother is tossing his and Cas’ duffel—because apparently buying Cas his own is just too much effort (Sam just thinks his brother is a sap)—into the Impala, against which Claire is leaning, arms crossed, one hip jutted out, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. This is like the millionth case you’ve been on since I’ve gotten here,” Claire points out.

“I know, but you start classes tomorrow…” Dean shrugs, and Sam can’t help but smile to himself at Dean’s mother-henning. All of them had been excited for Claire when she’d signed up for classes at the local-ish community college (Lebanon’s too small for its own school), even though Claire had tried to dismissively say it wasn’t a big deal because it wasn’t like she was going to a _real_ college. But, Sam’s convinced she’s secretly pleased.

“You know, I have been to school before. I know how it works,” the teen responds dryly. She offers a quick half-smile. “I’ll call ya and let you know how it goes, ok?”

Dean nods, posturing gruffness. “Good. Or call Cas. He’ll want to know, too.”

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Sam chimes in as he approaches the car. Dean just shakes his head, and Sam turns to Claire. “Good luck tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Claire smiles. “And, uh, you guys...don’t get killed, ok?”

“It’s just a haunting,” Dean says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No match for the three of us. Speaking of…” He turns to the door to the rest of the bunker, then yells, “CAS! Saddle up! Time to go!”

Cas emerges almost on-cue, a scowl pointed in Dean’s direction. Sam, however, misses the rest of the conversation, as his phone rings and he steps away from the group to answer. It’s the FBI Director ringtone (Charlie set up his phone so that he could get multiple lines all on one device; such a relief from having to carry a bagillion phones or be stuck to landlines).

“Director Morris,” he answers in a slightly lower and more serious register than normal. He doesn’t think he has quite the same ‘I’m the boss so shut the hell up and listen to me’ gravitas that Bobby did on the phone, but he’s getting there.

What follows is one of the stranger conversations he’s ever had about a case.

He returns to the car where Dean is already in the driver’s seat and Cas and Claire are standing by the vehicle.

“Change of plans, guys,” Sam announces, waving his phone. “Just got a call from Sheriff Donna. And Garth.”

“Wait, what?” Dean asks from the window. “Garth’s retired, and how the hell does he know Donna, anyway?”

“Apparently he came out of retirement for this one,” Sam explains. “He tried to pull the FBI gig—he’s using Bobby’s old FBI director name by the way; weird—and ended up doing it on one of Donna’s cases. They’ve got a werewolf-vampire showdown going on up there. Sounds big.”  

“What about the haunting?” Cas asks.

“I dunno. I’d say we split up, but I think the werewolf-vampire thing is going to be all hands on deck,” Sam answers.

“Hold on,” Dean frowns. “When you say werewolf-vampire, are you talking werepires or some _Twilight_ bullshit with werewolves and vampires killing each other? ‘Cause I got no problem with them taking each other out.”

“ _Twilight_ , huh?” Claire pipes up with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Oh shut up,” Dean grumbles. “Well, what is it? Werepires?” Sam thinks his brother looks entirely too pleased with himself for coming up with that name. “Or a monster Battle Royale?”

“Battle Royale,” Sam confirms. “But, Dean. If Garth’s involved in this, maybe it’s not what it seems.”

“Shit,” Dean agrees with some thought. “All right, we’ll figure it out on the way.”

 

Ten minutes onto the highway, they once again broach the subject of the haunted school case in Wisconsin. Luckily, so far, the attacks have only occurred after school. Well, ‘luckily’ in the sense that the victims, who are alive but in critical condition, have been a janitor and a teacher, not kids. But leaving an angry spirit in an elementary school is just a recipe for tragedy.

“Are there any other hunters in the area?” Cas suggests from the backseat. Sam quickly runs through his mental contacts list, but most of the hunters they know are in other parts of the country. Suddenly, two names pop into his head, and he grimaces.

“Well, it’s Wisconsin, and I dunno if they’re still working together, but ghosts _are_ their specialty…” Sam begins, hoping to ease his brother into the idea. Dean’s eyes narrow in confusion until he puts the pieces together.

“Those two dumbasses? Yeah, they’re special all right,” he scoffs. But, Sam is already scrolling through his phone and dialing their number, ignoring Cas’ questioning stare from behind him.

“What do you losers want?” Harry Spangler’s voice greets them through the speakerphone. Dean grits his teeth, but thankfully says nothing.

“Hey, Harry. Question: you and Ed still working together?” Sam asks, thinking of the Thinman case.

There’s an uncomfortable pause on the other end. “Yeah,” Harry replies curtly. Apparently, some wounds never heal quite right.

“Good, good. We, uh, we got a case for you. A haunt—” Sam begins before a laugh from Harry cuts him off.

“ _You_? Have a case for _us_? Hold on. HEY ED!” Sam flinches involuntarily at the raise in volume, thankful he hadn’t had the phone pressed to his ear. “It’s the Winchesters!

“The Winchesters?” Ed scoffs in the background, his voice growing louder as he obviously approaches Harry. “What do those douchenozzles want?”

Dean is seething in driver’s seat, and a look into the back shows that Cas is, characteristically, masking his annoyance with an expression of calm. Sam jumps back into the conversation before Harry can provide further commentary. “It’s a haunting at Wilder Elementary in Milwaukee.”

“A haunting, huh? What, the Losechesters can’t handle a spirit, so you’re calling in the professionals?” Harry taunts.

“Listen, asshats,” Dean finally snaps. “This case is in _your_ fucking backyard, so if you’re so professional, how come you haven’t done anything about it? And unless you want the werewolf-vampire deathmatch we’re going to...”

“Werewolves and vampires? What is this, _Twilight?_ ” Harry snorts in amusement. Biting the inside of his cheek, Sam pretends not to notice as Dean shoots him a look that quite clearly says that if he brings up the conversation in the bunker, he won’t live until his next birthday.

Ed, however, steps in and says, hurriedly, “Yeah, ok, we’ll take the ghost case.” Clearly, getting into the middle of a monster battle isn’t high on the Ghostfacer’s priority list, no matter what his partner might think.

“Never thought I’d see the day the Winchesters can’t handle a ghost...oh wait, that’s every day,” Harry crows.

“I would think,” Cas suddenly rumbles in chastisement, leaning forward over the back of the front seat, “that the threat towards innocent lives would be enough to end this petty bickering.”

There’s silence from the Ghostfacers, until, almost timidly, Ed asks, “Is that...is that Castiel?”

Sam can hear Harry whisper “oh shit” in the background.

“You know Castiel?” Dean asks. At first, Sam thinks it’s weird for Dean to use the former angel’s full name, but considering how scared the Ghostfacers seem of just Cas’ voice from miles away, Sam realizes that Dean is just pressing the advantage as it presents itself; “Cas” sounds far too friendly and normal.

“I met them during the Apocalypse,” Cas explains cryptically. “It did not go as planned. I may have damaged a picture they valued.”

“You shattered my Shatner!” Ed exclaims with indignation. Even Dean looks scandalized.

“Dude, you broke Captain Kirk?” Dean scolds, turning to face Cas. Sam wonders how they haven’t all died in a car accident yet. Cas’ eyes widen in understanding.

“Oh. I never made the connection until now,” Cas says in earnest apology, having since been indoctrinated into all things _Star Trek_ by Dean.

Ed starts mumbling something about “limited edition” and “priceless”, and Dean looks like he’s fighting an internal battle: his scorn for the Ghostfacers vs. his not-so secret crush on Kirk.

“Guys, the case?” Sam sighs, eyebrows raised in judgment as he tries to steer the conversation back. “Ed or Harry, you guys got an email address I can send you the info?”

Harry rattles off an address, and they hang up after a few more jabs at each other. Immediately, Sam opens up his email app and starts attaching what he’s found on the case.

“Know what really pisses me off about those guys?” Dean asks suddenly after a moment of quiet driving.

“Besides everything?” Sam replies, not really listening.

“Ok, point,” Dean concedes. “But that’s not what I meant. No, what pisses me off is that technically, those two dipshits have outlived us.”

Sam looks up, and Dean’s words sink in slowly. “Oh God,” he chokes out in horror. “You’re right.”

 _Whatever,_ he thinks to himself. _We’re still not the Losechesters._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen ["The Ghostfacers Meet Castiel"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=At4HgxwAfzQ), stop what you're doing and watch it. It's fantastic.


	3. Odd Couple

**Minnesota**

 

Back at the police station, Donna carefully deflects Officer Stover’s offers to help, sending him instead to bring up the case files of the two shooting deaths from earlier in the week.

“Sure thing,” Stover agrees.

“Thanks, Doug. I mean, Officer Stover,” Donna replies cheerily, but she frowns when he walks away and sees Garth giving a knowing raised eyebrow.

“You and Officer Doug seem close,” Garth comments with a smile as he follows her into her office where they can hopefully talk about vampires and werewolves without interruptions.

“He’s a good officer,” Donna defends, but she’s pretty sure her cheeks are a pink.

“Uh huh,” Garth nods. “Hey, I ain’t gonna judge; just be happy.”

“He’s a _Doug_ ,” she hisses, but Garth just blinks in confusion. “My ex’s name was Doug. It didn’t end good, I tell ya. Told me I loved cookie dough milkshakes more than him. Actually, that’s how I met Sam and Dean.”

“You met them because your ex-hubbie was a jerk?” Garth wonders.

“Kinda. I was at a fat spa. Lost ten pounds! But it turns out it was monsters running the joint. And I didn’t even know there were monsters until the boys showed up as agents again to deal with some vampires at a sheriffs’ retreat a year ago!” Donna half-sits on the desk, and pushes a chair out with her toe. Garth takes it with a grin.

“Sam and Dean pulled the FBI routine at a sheriffs’ gig?” Garth laughs. “Boy, I been outta the loop.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m...kinda retired. Plus,” Garth says, digging out his phone and thumbing through it quickly, “me and the missus have had our hands full.”

He shows her a picture of himself and a blonde woman, each holding an infant, one in blue, one in pink. Judging from the babies’ dark skin tones, she guess they were adopted. Automatically, she coos at those chubby cheeks.

“Twins, huh? They’re gonna be a handful!” She hands the phone back.

“They are already! Little Bobby and Sadie are about six months old now, and they're real good at it.” Garth is practically beaming as he talks about his little family, and Donna wonders how he could possibly leave them for this.

“So what brings you out of retirement? It’s not like you’re the only hunter out there and I woulda thought you’d want to just stay with those two munchkins,” Donna asks, but instantly regrets it when she sees Garth tense up.

“You know those two vics that got shot? No bullets found? I’d bet dollars to donuts they were shot with silver,” Garth evades.

“How’d you know that?”

“Only way to kill a lycanthrope. A werewolf,” Garth replies, but Donna just gives him a look. No way he’s getting off that easy. He sighs, and hangs his head.

“You trust Sam and Dean, right? I know they ain’t always the easiest to get along with, but if they say someone’s a good guy, you'll believe ‘em?” Garth asks, looking up hopefully.

“You betcha,” Donna assures him, but her brow is furrowed in question.

Garth pulls a necklace out from under his shirt, holding it up so that the fluorescent office light reflects off of a silver bullet. Through the open collar of his shirt, she can see a red mark, almost like a rash, right where the bullet would hang against his skin. “I’m a lycanthrope, too. But we don’t kill anybody. We eat animals, and leave humans alone. The lycanthropes that lived out here and got shot? They’re distant cousins of my wife.”

Donna feels her jaw drop as her brain tries to process all this. “Do Sam and Dean know?” She wants to trust Garth—he seems harmless—but she’d still feel better knowing that Sam and Dean have approved him, even as a werewolf.

“Yeah,” Garth chuckles darkly. “Didn’t go over well, but they came around. But that’s why me ‘n Bess adopted. She’s a second generation, I’m a bitten. I couldn’t pass that on to kids. She was kinda disappointed at first, but then she fell in love with those two kiddos and the rest is history.”

“Oh,” is all Donna can manage.

“Hey, I get it if you don’t want to work with me,” Garth says, and gets up from his chair. “I gotta figure out what’s going on ‘round here, and I know the Winchesters are coming, but we can part ways.”

“Hold your horses,” Donna replies, pushing off the desk and blocking Garth’s path to the door. “If Sam and Dean say you’re ok, then you’re ok in my book.”

“You sure?” His shoulders drop with an obvious release of tension.

“Darn tootin’,” Donna grins.

Sheriff Donna Hanscum, trying to solve a vampire and werewolf case, working with an actual werewolf. _As soon as this case is over, I’m calling Jody,_ she thinks. _I have a feeling I’m gonna need a drink. Or ten._


	4. Crash Into Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from the DMB song, ironically, since I really don't like DMB. But, it fit.

**Somewhere in Iowa**

 

“All right, Cas, you’re up,” Dean says, tossing the keys to him while Sam gets into the backseat. The harsh fluorescent lights of the gas station throw Dean’s features into sharp angles of light and shadow, and so there’s no mistaking the sincerity of the hunter’s remarks. Cas is nearly too stunned to catch the keys.

“Are you sure?” Cas asks. He’s driven the Impala before, but usually only over short distances or on the one occasion when Dean was concussed on a case when it was just the two of them. Dean had given Baby—as even Cas has learned to call her now—a careful inspection once he’d recovered and had merely grunted his approval that he’d found nothing wrong with her.

“Yeah, man, my eyes are getting grainy and Sammy already took a shift.” Dean looks away as he says the words, then climbs into the passenger seat.

Cas narrows his eyes, puzzled. _This_ time, Dean had not been telling the whole truth. It’s barely five o’clock, and Cas knows from experience that Dean is capable of driving several more hours before exhaustion wins over. But, Cas concludes that Dean most likely wants to monitor Cas’ driving before he becomes too tired, and so he squares his shoulders and crosses to the other side of the car, then eases himself into the driver’s seat.

“I know it’s still early, but are we planning on stopping for the night?” Cas asks many miles later. “Or do you wish to drive straight through?”

“Drive straight through,” Dean yawns, then looks back at Sam, who is snoring softly against the back passenger side window. “Don’t wanna wake up Sleeping Beauty.”

Cas nods, ignoring Dean’s allusion as he concentrates on driving, then switches into the fast lane to pass a lumbering semi-truck. So far, he must admit, Dean has been a surprisingly good ‘shotgun’ and only barely a ‘backseat driver’—a term Cas has learned applies to anyone in the car who is not driving, regardless of where they are actually sitting. Cas has no desire to change the status quo, and so they silently drive on in the rapidly darkening fuzzy twilight.

Checking once more to make sure his brother is in fact sleeping soundly, Dean shifts a little closer to Cas on the bench seat and puts his hand on Cas’ knee; Cas covers it with his own loosely, letting Dean’s thumb make small circles against his leg.

“Look at this jackass,” Dean murmurs a few minutes later. Two cars merge onto the highway ahead of them and in the adjacent lane from the Impala. The second car, clearly annoyed with the glacial pace of the first, doesn’t bother to wait for the ramp to completely join the rest of the highway, and instead crosses the cobblestone divider and shoots pass the slower driver.

What happens next seems to transpire in slow motion.

A giant cobblestone is kicked up from the median and bounces drunkenly across the road, right into their path.

Cas checks the mirrors quickly, but there is nowhere to go: a minivan is directly behind them, there’s a concrete barrier to the left, and a truck is riding alongside them at about the passenger-side back door.

“Oh fucking shit,” Dean yells with a hand braced on the dash as Cas slams on the brakes, swerving slightly. But all they can really seem to do is watch this inevitable collision course happen.

Sam jerks awake with a strangled, “What the fuck!”

The rock slams up underneath the carriage, clunking and crashing horribly. Dean and Sam both whip around.

“Did it hit the van?” Dean asks.

Sam replies, “No, it bounced high, but off the road.”

Dean’s obvious relief, and Cas’, is short-lived when they both realize that the Impala is making loud complaints and is shaking under Cas’ grip on the steering wheel.

“Pull over, Cas!” Dean growls.

“I’m trying, Dean,” Cas grits through this teeth. “I can’t just magically change lanes without hitting another car.”

Eventually, Cas maneuvers the car to the breakdown lane, though it barely earns the name; the car, despite its bulk, buffets as passing cars whip by, and Dean eases out carefully in the narrow gap between the door and the guardrail when Cas turns off the ignition. Sam and Cas follow him out, Cas sliding over to the passenger side rather than risking stepping out into traffic.

Dean has already fished a flashlight out of the trunk, and is on his hands and knees, peering under the car.

“Fuck, I can’t tell if the exhaust and everything just got knocked loose or if something's actually broken,” Dean mutters, more to himself than anything. He stands up, running a hand through his hair in irritation. “Won’t know until I can get under her with some real lighting.”

“Do we need a tow?” Sam asks. Cas pulls out his phone in anticipation.

“Hoping not,” Dean replies. “Cas, you know how far to the nearest exit?”

Cas manipulates the apps on his screen, inwardly priding himself at how much more adept he has become with technology.

“According to the map, there is an exit about two miles away, and a motel off that exit,” Cas informs them. “Do you think we will make it?”

Dean tosses the flashlight back in the trunk, letting the hood slam shut, then shakes his head. “Dunno. Only one way to find out.”

He holds out his hand and Cas hands over the keys without question.

“I’m sorry,” Cas grimaces, waiting for the inevitable anger that will come with an injury to Dean’s beloved car.

“Not your fault, Cas,” Dean grunts, then stalks to the driver’s side door, obviously caring far less than Cas did about the potential for being hit by a passing vehicle.

In the near-dark, the whites of Sam’s eyes almost seem to glow, and Cas shrugs in equal parts surprise and cautious relief. Behind him, the Impala’s engine roars to life, even louder than usual. Dean gets out again, leaving the car in park, then crouches down near the back of the car once more, one ear cocked and an intense look on his face.

“I think it’s just loose,” he declares, then gets up and returns to driver’s seat. Cas and Sam follow, except Cas purposefully takes the backseat this time.

Dean’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror and meet Cas’ when he realizes the new seating arrangement.

“Cas? I’m not mad, man,” Dean says, and Cas can hear the twinge of hurt in his voice. “Well, I am, but it’s at that fucking douchebag who kicked up the rock in the first place.”

“Ok, Dean,” Cas agrees, though he’s still not sure he believes his partner. The man values his family above all, but then again, Baby is just as much a member as anyone else. And _no one_ hurts Dean Winchester’s family without paying for it.

Dean hrmphs unsatisfactorily and switches the car into drive, easing her back onto the highway. The radio stays off, and Dean drives slower than usual down the road. Sam and Cas make no comment, knowing that Dean is trying to listen carefully to the car to ensure they make it the few miles to the promise of lodgings for the night.

 

The Red Oak Inn is aptly named, both for the two red oaks that stand sentry over the entrance to the parking lot and for the fact that it is, in fact, an inn and not a motel—and a far nicer place than their usual hunting accommodations.

Cas knows that if it were anything other than an emergency, Dean would have driven straight past this place, since inns are typically more expensive and he is a staunch advocate for places that aren’t “filled with frilly doilies and shit, or grandmas who want to talk about their twelve cats.” Personally, Cas would prefer an elderly woman with felines to finding a roach in the shower, but he is rarely consulted about these matters. Dean snorts as he pulls in, Sam shoots him an unamused look, and Cas thanks whoever is out there that the Red Oak Inn looks fairly frills-free. Rustic, yes, but well-cared for.

A middle-aged man with glasses and thin, balding brown hair meets them at the front desk.

“That your car out there?” he asks by way of greeting. “Or a Boeing jet?”

Dean scowls. “Cobblestone got kicked up under the carriage couple miles up on the highway.”

“Ouch,” the man sympathizes, peering out the window, where the Impala is parked not far from a streetlight. “What is she? Chevy? ‘60s?”

At this, Dean immediately perks up while Cas and Sam just hang back, more than willing to let Dean have his car moment. “Yeah, that’s right. Baby’s a ‘67 Impala,” he answers proudly.

“Bet she’s a real beaut when she’s all fixed up,” the man enthuses. “I’m Mitchell Lundgren, by the way.”

“Dean,” Dean shakes his hand, then jabs a thumb at his companions in turn. “This is Cas ‘n Sam.”

“Good to meet you,” Mitchell nods at each of them, and Cas and Sam murmur similar replies. “Anyway, a room or two for the night, I’m guessing?”

“Two rooms,” Sam pipes up from behind Dean, emphasizing the number. Dean turns and rolls his eyes at his brother.

“Sure thing,” the clerk nods. “Two singles? Double and a single? You’re in luck that we’ve got quite a few rooms free tonight.”

“Two singles, please,” Cas answers, stepping up to the counter. Dean steps back, allowing Cas to handle the transaction. For some reason, after the injury to Baby, Cas feels the need to prove that he can handle basic human interactions, even though he’s been doing just that for months now.

“All righty, here ya go,” Mitchell says as he slides a receipt over, then gets up from stool where he’d been sitting to limp over to the keycards. The limp, Cas sees, is a result of a cast on the man’s leg, and Cas notices a pair of crutches leaning against the wall behind the desk. He returns with two sets of keycards in paper envelopes, the room numbers Sharpied on in a messy scrawl.

“How’d you manage that?” Dean nods at Mitchell’s leg. “Got laid up one time like that a few years ago. Sucked.”

Mitchell looks down, then shakes his head. “Dumbest thing. Was helping a buddy move a couch, slipped on the stairs, cracked my leg. Back hurt like a bitch for a while, too, but luckily didn’t mess it up too bad. Can’t drive, though, that’s the worst of it.”

Cas picks up on the undercurrent of sadness at that last part, and he wonders what the cause of it is. Not being able to drive is certainly an inconvenience, but Cas gets the sense that there’s more to the story.

“I hope you recover quickly,” Cas says solemnly, and Dean’s lips quirk up.

“You can just say ‘Get well soon’ like a normal person, Cas,” Dean teases. Cas is about to reply that he _isn’t_ a normal person, but thinks better of it considering their company, and his mouth snaps shut again.

Mitchell smiles, though the smile doesn’t entirely reach his eyes. “Thanks. It’s not soon enough, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same.”

They make their way upstairs to their rooms, Sam breaking off from the group first when they reach room 23. Dean assures his brother that they’re just going to put their stuff down and then meet up to figure out what to do about dinner. Room 26, which Cas opens a moment later, is fairly large, with rich navy blue carpeting, a thick grey and white striped comforter on the king-sized bed, and large windows that must give the room a warm, airy feeling during the day.

“Not bad,” Dean assesses, dropping the duffel by the bureau where a TV stands, then ducking into the bathroom. “Dude, betcha the water pressure on this thing is awesome,” he calls back out, and Cas grins to himself as he follows Dean to inspect the shower, which has one of those shower heads with several different settings on it.

“And I’m sure you’ll enjoy that immensely,” Cas comments dryly.

“ _We_ will enjoy it,” Dean grins with a suggestive eyebrow waggle, and Cas can’t help but laugh.

“I can’t imagine why Sam wanted his own room so badly,” Cas chuckles.

“Hey, you know the rules,” Dean scolds, pointing a finger at him. “No talking about my brother in the same conversation as shower sex. Or any sex for that matter.”

“I don’t see why I should, seeing as you never follow the rule about not talking about my Father,” Cas counters, mostly to be, as Dean would say, ‘a little shit.’

“Yeah, but...that’s different,” Dean argues. “Shut up. Whatever. C’mon, let’s go before Sammy pulls a bitch-fit.”

Dean grabs him by the wrist and practically pulls him out of the room, and Cas just goes along with it, still smiling. After knocking on Sam’s door, Cas takes the moment before the younger Winchester answers to turn to his partner.

“I really am sorry about the car, Dean,” he says. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not more upset.”

“Oh trust me, I am,” Dean agrees, but he leans in and pecks Cas on the lips. “But there’s nothing we can do about it for now. And even if I were driving, same shit would’ve happened. Not your fault. Seriously, man.”

Sam opens up the door at that moment, cutting off their conversation, but Cas is still taken aback at how different Dean is now. Certainly, he is still hot-headed and prone to outbursts of anger at times of great stress, but ever since he’s lost the Mark of Cain, he’s become far more even-tempered and, dare Cas say it, happier.

“Hey, if you guys can’t handle it, we can call in someone else,” Sam is saying into the phone as he rolls his eyes. _Harry_ , he mouths to Dean and Cas in explanation.

Dean shrugs, replying with a silent, _Hey, you’re the one who wanted to call them._

Sam nods in weary acceptance, then waves them off, miming to them to pick him up something to eat. He gives Cas a pointed look, which he interprets as Sam saying he’s relying on him to prevent Dean from ordering something heart-attack inducing. Cas gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and a nod.

“I saw that,” Dean says as they walk towards the stairs. “And don’t think that just because I’ll cave and buy Samantha rabbit food that I’m letting you get away with that shit.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Cas allows, already hoping for a burger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cobblestone incident is based on a real story. Only differences are the dialogue and the fact that since I'm not a mechanic, my travel buddy (who was driving my car) and I had to wait for AAA to show up to tell us we didn't need a tow.


	5. Investigations

** Minnesota **

 

A _werewolf_. A real life _werewolf_. It doesn’t matter how many times Donna tells herself, she still can’t wrap her mind around the fact that Garth, who looks as dangerous as her Aunt Barbara’s pomeranian, is actually a fudging _werewolf._ She knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help but sneak looks over at the twig of a man as if waiting for teeth and claws to pop out.

But if Sam and Dean say he’s ok, she’ll believe it.

Too bad Garth picks up on her sidelong glances.

“The lunar cycle’s all wrong,” Garth says after maybe the tenth time—ok, maybe closer to thirtieth, if she’s being honest. “I’m not gonna turn anytime soon.”

“I wasn’t...I don’t…” Donna stutters, cheeks flushing as she stares resolutely out the windshield of her cruiser. Luckily, Garth just laughs.

“I know what you’re thinking, Sheriff. It’s cool. At least you didn’t just pull a gun on me,” Garth shrugs, but Donna suspects that last part wasn’t just a random throw-away comment.

“Sam and Dean gave you the third degree, huh?” she asks.

“Dean, mostly. Dude can be pretty black and white about monsters, ironically. But we’re all good now. He seems tough, but he’s a big ol’ softie underneath. He’s like the Shrek of the hunting community.”

“Ogres and onions?” Donna quips.

“You got it,” Garth nods.

Donna thinks of the first time she met the boys, and she grins at the memory of Dean covered in confectioner’s sugar from a powdered donut. She flicks on her directional and slows to take a left towards the more rural parts of town where Garth had indicated that his late in-laws had kept some property. Not having any other leads on the vampires or the blonde suspect in the latest killing had left them with few options but to check out the farm for any clues.

Besides, just because Sam and Dean had called to say they got waylaid by a rogue rock in the highway doesn’t mean she and Garth are gonna sit on their thumbs doing nothing until the boys show up. No sirree.

“Whatcha mean ‘ironically’ about Dean, though?” she asks after a moment.

“Well, there’s Cas, for one, and I heard tell that Dean got to be best buddies with a vampire when he was in Purgatory—” Garth replies, but Donna’s jaw drops.

“Purgatory?! What the fudge? That’s real?!” Donna exclaims. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Garth give her a worried look.

“You’ve only met Sam ‘n Dean a few times, right?” he asks slowly.

“Uh huh,” she nods. It’s been almost a year since she saw them at the sheriff’s retreat.

“Yeah, the boys’ve kinda been around the afterlife block a few times. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory. They don’t really like to talk about it,” Garth explains. “I didn’t tell you that, though.”

“Lips are sealed,” Donna promises, even though her mind is whirling with questions and she’s more than shocked at how casually Garth talks about all this. “Who’s Cas?”

“Hoo-boy that’s a long story,” Garth chuckles grimly. “You’re gonna wanna ask Sam and Dean for all the details. Probably better off asking Sam. But you’ll meet Cas tomorrow, so you should probably know who he is.”

“Alrighty…” Donna acknowledges with some trepidation.

“Well, Cas used to be this super powerful angel called Castiel and he helped the boys stop the Apocalypse. Cool guy, kinda smitey and awkward, but I guess that’s how angels do.”

“An angel?”

“Yep. Then last year, I get a call out of the blue from Sam saying Dean’s gone missing and to let him know if I hear anything. Long story short, Dean took a walk on the dark side, Cas used his Grace to cure him, became human, and I guess he and Dean are a thing now. I only hear bits and pieces from Sam since retiring.”

“Wow. That’s a doozy of a story,” Donna manages to get out, and resolves that she is most definitely 100% calling Jody as soon as she gets a chance. She has a feeling the other sheriff can fill in a few gaps.

“You betcha,” Garth agrees with a sly grin. Donna smacks him on the arm.

“That’s my line, buddy,” she scolds playfully.

Up ahead, an old, but well-cared for, white farmhouse looms up in the cruiser’s approaching headlights. To the right, and set back from the house, is a barn that looks like it’s still in use for actual farming, unlike a lot of barns these days that have been converted to garages. The car glides up to the house, Donna trying to be as quiet as possible, and comes to a stop next to an old Jeep, where Donna kills the engine and lights, casting the whole place into utter darkness.

Without a word, Garth and Donna both emerge from the cruiser, guns drawn and flashlights on. Garth, Donna notices, keeps his gun resolutely pointed towards the ground. She lowers her own weapon slightly, taking her cues from Garth. She may be a sheriff, and a darn good one if she does say so herself, but this is definitely Garth’s world more than hers.

The front door is unlocked and the screen door swings slightly in a cool breeze that tastes of the approaching autumn. Nodding to Garth, the sheriff hangs back to cover the hunter as he enters the house.

“Jessa?” Garth calls into the gloom before finding a light in the hallway and flicking it on. There’s no response, but Garth moves further into the house, undaunted. The lights reveal a homey place with family pictures leading up the stairs and warm paint gracing walls framed with bright white trim.  

From what Donna has gathered, Garth’s in-laws out this way consisted of siblings Matthew and Holly, and Matthew’s eighteen-year-old daughter, Jessa. Apparently, Jessa’s mom had taken off when Jessa was just a kid, and so Holly had stepped in to help Matthew raise her niece. The coroner had been unable to identify Holly and Matthew as the shooting victims earlier in the week, since the family had lived more or less off the grid, but Garth had confirmed their identities.

“Jessa?” Garth tries again, even louder. “It’s me, Garth? Cousin Bess’ husband?”

Silence. They move through the house cautiously, but nothing looks out of place, except for the dishes in the sink looking hastily abandoned. They move upstairs where they find four bedrooms; the first is a master bedroom that must be Matthew’s, judging from the more masculine colors, while the second is another large bedroom that they guess is Holly’s. The third bedroom is clearly Jessa’s, but what they find makes Donna’s stomach sink. The girl’s bedroom, adorned like any other teen’s room with posters and a cluttered desk of knickknacks, looks like it has been raided. The closet door is flung open, as are the bureau drawers, and both are mostly empty. Random articles of clothing are strewn on the bed and floor, as if whoever was packing had done so with the finesse of a tornado.

“Guess she took off,” Donna comments. “Any idea where she’d go?”

Garth shakes his head sadly. “Only met her once. They came down to visit and meet the little ones. I’ve never been here myself.”

They move into the final bedroom, which Donna expects to be a spare since the others are accounted for, but instead they find a similar situation to Jessa’s room. The decor is a little more mature than the teen’s, and the room definitely has the appearance of being far less lived in, but it too has been emptied of most of its clothing.

Donna is over by the desk when Garth speaks up behind her. “This look like our blonde suspect?”

In the picture that Garth holds out are two girls, clearly sisters. Judging from the knobbly elbows and braces, the girls were probably in late middle school, maybe early high school for the older one, when the picture was taken. Their smiles are wide and carefree, and Donna can’t help but wonder where the other sister is if only one of them is here.

“One of ‘em could be her,” Donna agrees. “You don’t recognize either?”

“Naw, but I’ll send a copy to Bess. See if she knows anything.” Garth sighs, running a frustrated hand through his mousy hair. “But where’s Jessa got to?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll find her, ok?” Donna reassures him with a pat on the shoulder. Garth just nods, but Donna is relieved to see the undercurrent of resolve in the gesture.

This case is gonna be a rough one.

 

 

 

** South Dakota **

 

Finally, a hit on her missing persons case. Two women, one 29 and another 33, have disappeared this week and the only lead they’ve had is that the suspect, a male in his mid-thirties, met both of them at the same bar. One witness says he thinks the suspect had an old wood-paneled station wagon, but there are enough of those rattling around Sioux Falls and the surrounding areas to not be a particularly helpful lead. Until tonight, that is, when Jody Mills got word that a man fitting the suspect’s description has been seen in a station wagon heading out to an old cabin about an hour outside town, a cabin that’s actually not that far from her own family’s place.

And that’s _just_ what Jody wants to think about as she drives out there—some weirdo psychopath taking up residence in the same vicinity as one of the last places remaining where she has only positive memories of her family. She pushes down that thought with a simultaneous swallow, and drives on in silence. In the passenger seat is Officer Adam Chiang, a fairly new member of the force that she’s worked with before. The taciturn man says nothing as the cruiser rumbles over the uneven road, and Jody has no complaints about this. Chiang comes across gruff, but she knows he’s a decent guy, and what he lacks in warm fuzzies he more than makes up for in ability.

“All right, you good?” Jody asks as they pull up to the cabin. There’s no station wagon to be found, but that doesn’t deter Jody.

“Yes, sir,” Chiang replies automatically, but with conviction.

They climb the steps to the cabin’s front door, Chiang consistently surveying the area as Jody takes the lead and knocks. No answer, not that Jody’s surprised.

“Sir,” Chiang says, nodding once in the direction of a large shed that must be half as big as the actual cabin. The building looms ominously near the treeline and though a grimy distant window, Jody picks up on the dim glow of light that must have attracted the officer’s attention.

“Cover me,” Jody commands, and they both draw their weapons to approach the shed. “Sioux Falls Police,” Jody calls out as she nears the building. “Anyone there?”

“Help,” a faint voice croaks out from within. Chiang steps forward, and Jody nods once with permission. The officer’s large boot cracks the dry wood of the door frame in one go and the door clatters open.

Inside is worse than even Jody had expected. The body of one woman has been tossed carelessly under the window, but their flashlights reveal the source of the plea for help. The other woman is bound to a pole with what look like giant Halloween-style cobwebs. A single bare bulb flickers sadly from a light fixture on the back wall.

“Help me,” the woman rasps out again. Her face is streaked with tears, and her hair is caked with dirt and matted into an unholy rat’s nest. Wide brown eyes blink frantically in the sudden bright light, and the two officers rush over to her.

“It’s ok,” Jody says to her. “We’re the police, we’re going to get you out of this, all right? Are you Freida?”

The girl nods.

“Ok, Freida. You’re going to be just fine, I promise.” Even as she speaks the words, Jody can feel the terror rising in the back of her throat. Whatever this all is, it isn’t some garden variety serial killer.

“What the hell is this shit,” Chiang mutters as they both try to tear the cobweb material off the young woman.

“I don’t know,” Jody admits, finally resorting to the all-purpose knife she carries on her to cut through. “But I think I know someone who might.”

 

After calling in the crime scene, she steps away to make a second call. Most of the cops in Sioux Falls have learned the hard way that there is more out there than just crooks and criminals, and so Jody feels somewhat confident with playing this one as by the book as she can. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t getting some consulting on the case.

“Hey Jody,” Sam answers, his voice a little weary, and Jody’s heart twinges a bit. She loves both of the boys dearly, but she’ll alway have a little bit of a soft spot for the younger brother. Maybe it’s the fact that they’ve worked together, just the two of them, twice to save Dean, but Jody suspects it’s because the man tugs at her mothering heartstrings with his puppy dog eyes and his ability to look just like a little kid despite being practically a giant.

“Hi Sam,” she greets warmly. “How you holding up, kiddo? You sound beat.”

Sam huffs a small laugh. “I’m all right. Long day. We’re on our way up to help Donna with a case, actually. Got sidetracked by some car issues.”

“Donna, huh? Haven’t talked to her in a couple months. Hope she’s doing ok,” Jody says. “So, car trouble? Guess the real question then is ‘how’s Dean holding up?’”

This earns her a more genuine laugh from the hunter. “Surprisingly ok. He’s actually being mature about it for a change.”

“Will wonders never cease,” Jody replies dryly, inwardly rolling her eyes with fondness at the elder Winchester’s well-known obsession with his car. Not that she blames him, knowing that it’s been the boys’ home nearly their whole lives.

“So what’s up, Jody? I’m guessing you caught a case or something.”

“Yeah, you guessed right. Something’s been snatching women. Leaves these nasty cobwebs that’re like steel. Come across anything like that before?”

“Um, yeah,” Sam answers, and Jody has a feeling there’s an unpleasant story behind that response. “It sounds like an arachne. Basically spider monsters, but they look mostly human. They can turn others by biting them.”

“Sounds like a party. Ok, so how do I get rid of the Peter Parker wannabes?”

“Beheading’s the only thing we’ve come across that’ll kill ‘em for sure. Guns and fire don’t work.” Sam pauses. “You need back up on this? We’re stuck here, but I’m sure I can find some hunters out your way.”

“Nah, I think I’ll be fine. I’ve got at least one officer who already knows there’s something up with this case. He’s good.”

“Ok,” Sam agrees with concerned reluctance. “I’m gonna send you what we have on arachnes. And if anything changes, just call and we’ll help you out however we can.”

“Sure thing, Sam. Now go rest up so you’re ready for Donna’s case.” She can’t help it: once a mom, always a mom. “Send my love to Dean and Cas, and Claire when you get back home.”

“I don’t think it’ll be the same coming from me, but I will,” Sam says with a smile in his voice.

They sign off after that, and Jody returns to the crime scene where she finds Officer Chiang standing near the cruiser.

“C’mon, Chiang. We’ve got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like writing Sam and Jody as a mother-son thing. I was rewatching Hibbing 911 and Jody's greeting and hug with Sam is subtly different than the way she greets Dean, even though it's clear she loves them both.
> 
> I hope it doesn't feel like there's too much going on with this fic with adding another case, and I hope you'll stick with it. It all comes together in a way, I promise.


	6. Saving People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the previous chapter, this chapter, and the next chapter overlap. So if you're like "wait, I missed something" -- like with Dean and Cas' appearance / mini-plot line here -- don't worry, it'll all be explained. I just wanted to focus on Sam.

**Iowa**

 

“You’re going _where_?” Sam asks, not quite believing his ears.

“Oh shut it, Sammy,” his brother replies, unceremoniously shoving a roast beef sandwich into his hands.

“The salads looked unappetizing,” Cas apologizes, and Sam shrugs.

Just because he doesn’t want something artery-clogging at every meal doesn’t mean that he _only_ eats salads, which is what his brother seems to think. The roast beef sandwich actually looks fresh and pretty damn good, and he thanks them both.

“So...a school play?” Sam questions, utterly enjoying the discomfort on his brother’s face.

“We’re just giving the guy a ride!” Dean defends, then takes his partner by the elbow. “C’mon, Cas. You cool holding down the fort, Sam?”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell Mitchell I’ll be down in a minute,” Sam agrees.

He goes over to the table in his room, gathers up his laptop and research materials in one arm, sandwich in the other, then heads down to the lobby. At the desk, he finds the innkeeper leaning awkwardly on his crutches while Dean and Cas hover by the door. Mitchell gives Sam a general tour of the desk and where to find things should any of the guests need assistance, and then the younger Winchester waves the trio out the door.

Apparently, Dean and Cas had managed to strike a deal with the owner to borrow Mitchell’s car, since Baby is currently out of commission, to pick up food—hence the delicious sandwich Sam practically inhales after settling in behind the front desk—in exchange for a ride to Mitchell’s kid’s school play or something.

Sam had kind of stopped listening at “school play” and just jumped on the chance to rib his brother. He’d even wondered if it’d be worth poking the bear and bringing up the _Supernatural_ musical. The Destiel jokes never get old.

While Mitchell is out, though, someone needs to keep the place running, which is why Sam finds himself casually researching police reports about this vampire-werewolf case at the front desk of a charming inn.

After demolishing the sandwich, Sam washes it down with a cup of coffee from the complimentary Keurig in a small dining room off of the lobby that Sam guesses usually features a decent breakfast bar in the mornings.  

The police report doesn’t give him much more information about the case than Garth or Donna had, but he does make a note of the description of the suspect in the latest death. Blonde, mid-twenties, in the middle of a werewolf situation? _Could be Kate,_ he thinks.

He’s about to fire this information off to Garth but an incoming call stops him.

“Krissy?”

“Hey Sam,” the teen answers. “Need some help on a case. I tried calling old man Dean, but…”

Sam takes a second to be relieved that Krissy doesn’t sound like she’s in immediate danger before responding, “Yeah, he’s out. Probably has his phone off. What do you need?”

“Well, we’re in Delaware and we think a shifter has taken over the CEO of a credit card company. They’ve got security up the wazoo and I don’t think any of us can pull off the Fed thing you and Dean do.”

“Interns?” Sam suggests, wracking his brain trying to think of suitable disguises for teenagers in a business setting.

“That might work,” Krissy agrees. “Any chance you can help get us in the door? IDs, references, I dunno…”

The metaphorical bulb flashes on over Sam’s head. “Yeah, I think we can do that. Hey, Krissy? Hold on, I’m gonna call someone real quick.”

“No prob. I’ll be here.”

The girl clicks off without so much as a good-bye, not that Sam had expected differently. Quickly, Sam scrolls through his phone and hits the call button. The phone rings a few times before a cheery voice answers.

“Sup, dude? This better be good—I’m in the middle of a serious campaign here and my peeps are kicking ass,” Charlie greets him; the background noise and quick clicking of keys makes Sam fairly positive she has him on speakerphone and there is some intense gaming going on over on her end.

“You free to talk? About work?” Sam asks, hoping that she doesn’t have any civilians around who can overhear.

“Yeah...oh man, this isn’t gonna be a fun social call, is it? Can’t you guys ever just call me to hang out? I dunno, grab some brewskis and marathon _Harry Potter_?” Charlie half-whines.

“Dean doesn’t even like _Harry Potter_ ,” Sam counters.

“Of course he does! He’s seen all eight movies!” Charlie exclaims.

Sam's fairly confident that there's a joke there that he's missing, but luckily Charlie doesn't seem to notice and she apparently logs off or pauses her game, judging by the relative quiet on the other end of the phone.

“All right, so what flavor of monster madness do you have in store for me today?” she asks, causing Sam a fleeting moment of regret that this is indeed a work-related call. Then again, they’ve got a Moondoor weekend coming up soon, and Sam is looking forward to some downtime with their favorite adopted little sister.

Sam quickly explains what he knows about Krissy’s case, and immediately Charlie cracks her knuckles eagerly over the possibility of a little hacking to take down this shifter. On the one hand, Sam feels somewhat useless passing the job off to Charlie, but even if he wasn’t stuck in some inn, the redhead would be a better choice for this kind of job than he would. But still.

And that doesn’t even take into account the guilt he feels over Krissy and her crew hunting instead of going to school or getting real jobs or whatever. He’s not as bad as Dean over this kind of stuff, he’ll admit, but that doesn’t make it any easier to encourage teenagers to be the next generation of hunters.

Ending his phone call with Charlie, he calls back Krissy and arranges for her and Charlie to connect about the case, but not without making the girl promise not to do anything stupid and to call if they need _anything_. Krissy, of course, gives a huffy, “I _know_ , Sam. We’ll be fine.” Sam likes Krissy, he does, but there are time when he’s dealing with her or Claire that he wonders just how in the hell Dean and Cas put up with that on a daily basis.

Deciding he needs more caffeine, Sam stands up and stretches himself out before heading back over to the Keurig. He’s just popped in the K-cup when his phone rings again. His eyes widen slightly when he sees the caller ID. Apparently, the supernatural world is going for some kind of record tonight, because he can’t imagine Jody Mills is calling just to catch up.

Then again, maybe she would. There aren’t many people Sam can just talk to about normal, human stuff, but Jody is one of them. Something about her feels like coming home, which, Sam reflects, is a strange thing for him to think, seeing as he can’t say he’s had a lot of positive experiences with homes.

But, as much as he’d like to just shoot the shit with the sheriff, Sam doesn’t get his hopes up—much like Charlie didn’t—as he unlocks the screen to answer.

And of course, it’s arachnes in Sioux Falls.

What a day.

The useless feeling bubbles up again as he realizes there’s nothing he can really do except send information on the spider monsters to Jody and hope that she and her officer can take care of them. He’s slightly comforted by Jody’s fond admonishment to get some rest before they hang up, and he smiles at her concern.

Wearily, he sips at the fresh coffee as he returns the phone to his pocket and makes his way back to the front desk. He gets as far as typing in his password for his computer when he realizes that he has absolutely no desire or motivation to do any more research. Instead, his mind just swirls uselessly at all of the cases currently up in the air and how little he is doing to help.

He wonders how Bobby could stand it, being at home, either dreading the phone ringing with another case or waiting anxiously for word that everyone is safe and all right. Suddenly he appreciates the emotional turmoil he and Dean probably put the older hunter through over the years (no wonder he was so fond of the word “idjit”), and he sends up a silent prayer of gratitude. He has no idea if Bobby’ll receive it, but there’s a part of them that hopes the old man’s got his ears on, and another part that hopes Bobby is kicking back in Heaven without a care in the world. He earned it.

An unfamiliar ring startles Sam before his brain kicks in and he realizes it’s not his cell phone freaking out, but the landline for the front desk. The small screen indicates that the call is coming from room 104, and Sam grimaces slightly before picking up the handset, hoping that the guest will have an easy question or problem, not something that the real manager has to do.

“Front desk,” he answers, not entirely sure of the protocol.

A woman’s voice, laced with exhaustion, answers, “Um, hi. I just tried to turn on the shower in my room, but the knob came off.”

Instantly, Sam is taken back to memories of doing work around the motel where he met Amelia, and he pushes those thoughts away. “Is the water on?”

He mentally crosses his fingers, hoping he won’t have to do some impromptu plumbing, and nearly sighs in relief when the woman says that the knob came off before she could turn the water on.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he assures her.

Unfortunately, Mitchell’s grand tour of the lobby had not included a tool set, and so, not in the mood to search for one, Sam simply goes out to the parking lot and pops open the trunk of the Impala. Dean’s toolbox in hand, Sam returns to the inn and heads down the hall to room 104.

The woman who greets Sam at the door is his own age, give or take a couple years. She’s tall—probably 5’10—with dark brown eyes that almost seem at odds with her pale skin and light blonde hair. He’s reminded a little bit of Jo, except where Jo had been tough and just this side of tomboy, the woman in front of him is all soft curves and shy smiles that do little to mask the tiredness in her posture.

Jackie, as she introduces herself, shows him the shower, where the knob sits ineffectively on the edge of the sink. Sam notices that Jackie uses hushed tones and makes more than few glances towards the closed door off of the main living area, where he assumes there is a bedroom with a sleeping guest. There is also a bed in the main room, which Sam sees Jackie has claimed for herself, if the suitcase and rumpled sheets are any clue. Not wanting to disturb whoever is sleeping next door, Sam does his best not to rummage through the toolbox, instead taking out each piece carefully as he gets to work on the shower.

“You’re all set,” Sam informs Jackie a little while later, the job having been fairly straightforward.

“Thanks,” Jackie says. “God, it has just _not_ been my week for plumbing.” Sam raises an eyebrow at this odd statement, and Jackie huffs a quiet laugh, adding, “Apartment above mine sprung a leak, so we’re here until they can make repairs.”

“Damn,” Sam sympathizes. “They kicked you out for that?”

“Yes and no. Didn’t want my daughter to be there with work being done in her room,” Jackie admits, and as if on cue, a child’s cry sounds from the other bedroom. Sam continues packing up the tools as Jackie goes to soothe her daughter.

He emerges from the bathroom to find Jackie bouncing a baby in her arms. The little girl, who is probably just shy of a year old—not that Sam is any real good judge on these matters—is wailing unhappily, and Sam offers Jackie a sympathetic smile.

“I’ll just get out of your way,” he nods. “Have a nice night.”

Before Jackie can respond, though, the baby stops crying, looking up at Sam like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread, or a baby bottle, to use a more relevant analogy. Without warning, the little girl practically launches herself out of her mother’s grasp and towards Sam, who catches her torso with his free hand while Jackie clings to her legs.

“I...uh…” Sam stutters, unsure what to make of this. As soon as he speaks, the baby looks up at him in wonder.

“I’m sorry,” Jackie says, trying to bring her daughter back fully into her arms, but the little girl has an iron grip on Sam’s shirt. “Her dad’s been...away...for awhile. You kind of sound like him.”

“It’s fine,” he nods, and gently pries the little fingers up. Apparently, this is most definitely _not_ what the girl wants, and she lets her displeasure be known with another wail. Putting down the toolbox by his feet, Sam takes a cautious step towards her, then gives a smile and small wave. “Hi there. You ok?”

He instantly feels foolish, but he honestly has no idea what to say to a baby. She reaches out towards him once more, her lips quivering and ready to cry again. Her eyes are wet and just as dark as her mother’s, though her hair has reddish highlights.

“Do you want to hold her?” Jackie asks.

“Um, sure?” Sam says. It’s not that he doesn’t like babies, but the last (and possibly only) time he’s spent in the company of an infant, he’d had no soul and the baby in question had been a shifter. Clueless doesn’t even begin to describe it. Dean’s always been better at this, strangely enough.

But, he senses the desperation in Jackie’s query, and he hadn’t missed the cautious way she’d said the child’s father was away, and so he can’t refuse. If the kid needs a little “dad” time to calm down, it’s the least he can do to help out her mom.

“What’s her name?” Sam asks as the girl settles against his chest. Thankfully, she’s old enough to not need much support to get comfortable in his arms, unlike a newborn.

“Claire,” Jackie answers, and Sam laughs. Claire looks up at her name and the laughter, decides all is well, then happily buries her face into Sam’s shirt, which he can immediately feel soak up tears, and probably some drool. Jackie, however, gives him a puzzled look at his response to the name.

“My brother’s...daughter? is named Claire,” he explains.

“You’re not sure if she’s his daughter?” Jackie asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Biologically? I’m positive. It’s a long story. She’s eighteen and she’s only been living with them a few months.”

“Oh,” Jackie says, seemingly satisfied with the explanation, then turns her attention on her own daughter who looks like she’s about to nod off in Sam’s arms. “No kids of your own?”

“How’d you guess?” Sam smirks, realizing that he probably looks super tense and awkward holding the little girl.

“You know, you’re not as bad at that as you think,” Jackie observes. “Sorry she latched onto you like that. And I’m sorry your shirt’s probably gross by now.”

“Trust me, this shirt has seen worse,” Sam reassures her.

They stay there for a few more minutes until Claire has completely calmed down again and is nearly asleep, at which point Sam returns the girl to her mother. He picks up the toolbox, says his good-byes, and leaves the room. It’s not until he’s back at the front desk, having returned the tools to the Impala’s trunk, that he realizes just how messy babies really are.

Maybe he is stuck in an inn while there are hunts and monsters roaming around.

But for once, he thinks he still helped someone, and if the proof of that is tears, drool, and snot on his shirt instead of blood and guts, then so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this was the last chapter I posted before the Great Delete of 2016. Sorry again if you already read it! I'd really appreciate some kudos and comments so I feel like I'm not just reposting this pointlessly. :)


	7. There's a Double Meaning in That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't noticed yet, I'm a huge nerd, and even so, this chapter got way nerdier than I was originally planning. Sorrynotsorry

**Iowa**

 

Mitchell is on the phone when Dean and Cas get to the desk in the hope that the clerk can direct them to someplace with grub in walking distance.

“I know, Noah, I’m sorry. Maybe I’ll be able to make the matinée on Sunday. I’ll see if I can hitch a ride from someone,” Mitchell says into the speaker, then gives the other two men an apologetic smile when he sees them. “Ok, buddy, I gotta go. Guests. I’d say break a leg, but…” Even through the speakers, Dean can make out a laugh from the other end, and Mitchell also chuckles at his joke. “Yep, you too. Bye.” Mitchell pockets the phone, and turns to Dean and Cas. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No worries,” Dean shrugs. “Your kid?”

Mitchell shakes his head. “Not exactly. Ex’s son. He’s pretty much the only reason I stuck around as long as I did.”

Something in Dean’s chest tightens. He remembers that feeling; Lisa was great, fantastic even, but there were days when Dean thinks the only reason either of them kept it going was for Ben’s sake.

“Is this why you are concerned that you can’t drive?” Cas asks, blunt as always. Dean gives him a look. “I'm sorry; it's none of our business. We only came to ask about places to get food, hopefully that we could walk to.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mitchell dismisses the apology. “Noah’s got a play tonight—lead role. Not to sound all _Dead Poets_ , but his mom is dead-set on him going into business in college, and I’m the one who convinced him to try acting, if that’s what he likes. Would’ve liked to have gone and see him.” Mitchell straightens up. “Anyway, to answer your question—there isn’t much around here. There’s a pizza and sandwich joint a few miles down the road, but it’s not a great road for walking at night. Liable to get hit.”  

A sudden solution dawns on Dean and one quick look at Cas, who is emulating Sam in the puppy-dog eyes department, confirms that his partner is thinking the same.

“You got a car?” Dean asks. “Make you a deal—we’ll drive you to the play if we can pick up food for us and my brother.”

Mitchell’s eyes light up. “You’d do that?”

Dean raises a shoulder. “Why not. If you don’t mind us borrowing your wheels.”

“Well, the high school is a bit far—about thirty minutes away,” Mitchell hedges. Dean nearly scoffs; considering how much driving they do, thirty minutes is practically around the corner by his standards.

“Well, Mr. Keating, we better get a move on, then.”

It doesn’t take long to get sandwiches for himself, Cas, and Sam (he and Cas might’ve been hoping for burgers, but the Philly cheesesteak is pretty damn good for not being from Philly), get a ribbing from Sam about going to a play (which they are most definitely not), and get back on the road. Sam assures Dean before they leave that he has no problem manning the phones while they’re gone, and Dean knows the Red Oak phone line isn’t the only line Sam’s referring to.

A few minutes later, they’re back in Mitchell’s Camry. (“It was cheap,” Mitchell had apologized when they’d first seen it.) And thirty minutes later, on the dot, they’re pulling into the high school and dropping Mitchell off near the entrance; the man had said they could use the car in the meantime and that the play should be done by 9:30. Mitchell waves them off, then turns on his crutches and heads into the building. Cas gets out of the backseat and joins Dean in the front, though he looks almost wistfully and curiously at the school.

“You want to see the play, don’t you?” Dean asks reluctantly. “Cas, they’re high school kids. It’ll be the kind of torture that only parents endure because they have to.”

“Perhaps,” Cas agrees. “The banner says they’re performing _Much Ado About Nothing_. I’m familiar with the story, but it would be interesting to have it with more context.”

“Context” generally being Cas-speak for “not just how Metatron interpreted it” or "not just how I remembered things as an angel."

“Fine,” Dean grouses, then swings the car into the main part of the lot and starts searching for an empty space.

Dean’s mood does not improve even after they buy tickets, get a program, dodge a question about which student is theirs by Dean mumbling something about Cas being a huge supporter of the arts in the local community, and settle into their seats. He is relieved, however, that the play has absolutely nothing to do with his life, and is not a musical, unlike the last high school performance he saw...and was an unwilling participant in.

But, glancing down at the program, he gives a groan, earning a reproachful side-eye from Cas.

“Dude, it’s freaking _Shakespeare_ ,” Dean grumbles under his breath. Cas raises an inquiring eyebrow. Instead of responding, Dean just shakes his head miserably, thinking of every time some poor beleaguered English teacher of his tried to drag a class of teenagers through the Bard’s words. You could always see the pained expression on the teacher’s face as the students stumbled over the words and complained that they had no clue what was going on.

Except for that one kid who was a fucking genius and would recite that shit like they were born on the Globe’s stage.

Dean was never that kid.

But he’d bet Sammy was.

They watch as the curtain opens to reveal a two-tiered set resembling a patio (Dean’s pretty sure there’s a fancier name for it than that, but “patio” is all he can come up with) and a Mediterranean-style villa. The set has been so convincingly painted that it takes Dean’s brain a split second to realize that the walls are not, in fact, warm yellowish stone.

The language is hard to get into at first, but once Beatrice and Benedick (played by Mitchell’s kinda kid, Noah, according to the program) start bantering in the first scene, Dean has to admit he’s completely on board and chuckling with the rest of the audience. Ok, so maybe there’s something to Shakespeare after all. Dude could write a good burn when he wanted to.

He’s so wrapped up in the play that he almost doesn’t notice Cas’ hand on his knee, or the way his partner’s eyes crinkle at the corners during the more lighthearted parts of the play, or the way his lips tug down at the corners when Claudio shames Hero so horrifically at their failed wedding. Almost.

Ok, who’s he kidding? Half the fun of the play is watching how Cas reacts to it.

They both clap enthusiastically along with the rest of the crowd when the lights go up and the actors reappear to take their bows.

“I thought high school plays—real ones, not weird-ass musical versions of Chuck’s books—were supposed to be happy-go-lucky musicals and shit. That got kinda dark in the middle,” Dean comments as they exit the auditorium, keeping a look-out for Mitchell. He doesn’t see Mitchell yet, but he does notice a couple parents give him a disapproving look, and he realizes he should probably keep his language in check while he’s in the school.

“You say this as though I would have more insight about what is and what is not normal for teenagers to perform,” Cas deadpans.

“Fair point,” Dean allows.

“Besides, it is a ‘comedy.’”

“Well, yeah, but the whole Claudio-Hero plot? Claudio was douche. Even if you think your chick is cheating on you, that was just cold. And she wasn’t! I mean, that’s the whole point of the play, right? It was all a big deal about nothing.”

Cas gives a wry smile. “I’m fairly certain there are other connotations of the word ‘nothing’ at play there. No pun intended—for ‘play’, that is.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“‘Do you think I meant country matters?’” Cas answers cryptically.

“Uhhh...what now?” Dean questions with what he is sure is the same look he gave most of his teachers whenever Shakespeare was the topic at hand.

This time, Cas’ smile grows wider, but he glances around at the parents and teens milling about. “It’s a quote from _Hamlet_. I’ll explain later...when we’re no longer in ‘mixed company.’”

“Fine. Is this gonna be one of those 'it's funnier in Enochian' kinds of things?" This comment gets him one of Cas' patented unamused looks, and so Dean just resolves to Google it later. "So, anyway, that Noah kid was really good. And uh, what’s her name,” he looks down at the program, "Riley, the one who played Beatrice. They really sold it. Even when they were fighting, it was pretty obvious they liked each other.”

“Hmm,” is Cas’ only verbal reply, but he gives Dean a significant look.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Shut up,” Dean mutters, taking Cas’ hand just to prove the point.

“I would like to go to more plays in the future,” Cas muses after a moment. “I think I prefer them to movies; the emotional interplay between audience and performer can’t be replicated with film.”

“What’re you talking about?” Dean scoffs. “Movies are awesome.”

“I never said they weren’t. But I would also prefer to attend a play with company; perhaps we could see another together. A professional one, even.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, Cas,” is all he manages, trying to imagine a situation where he, Dean fucking Winchester, wouldn’t feel completely weird going to the _theatre_ (because he can help but hear it in his mind with a douchey British accent). But maybe going with Cas wouldn’t be too bad. What has his life become? He would never hear the end of this from Sam.

His thoughts are interrupted by Mitchell finally exiting the auditorium, clearly having waited for the crowd to disperse before making his way out on the crutches. Dean and Cas catch Mitchell’s attention, and he starts to swing over to them when Noah sees Mitchell and breaks away from the group of cast members, friends, and parents.

“You made it!” Noah exclaims, and the two hug awkwardly over Mitchell’s crutches.

“Managed to swing a ride. I couldn’t miss this. You were amazing,” Mitchell enthuses. Dean manages to get Mitchell’s eye for just a second, silently communicating to take his time and they’ll be at the car. Mitchell nods, and then turns back to Noah.

“Your high school experience was not like this,” Cas says once they’re back in the Camry and have brought it up closer to the school doors again. Cas, being Cas, of course just says it matter-of-factly, but Dean picks up on the undercurrent of question.

“Nah, but Sammy did theater a couple times. Tech, though, not acting.”

Cas is thoughtful for a moment. “You did no extra-curricular activities?”

“None that were school-approved,” Dean smirks, thinking of several janitor’s closets and stairwells with certain co-eds, or the days he skipped to help his dad with cases.

“I wonder if Claire would have done more school activities, if…” Cas doesn’t need to complete the sentence: they both know how to fill in that blank. If Cas hadn’t possessed her dad. If Amelia hadn’t left her. If her grandmother hadn’t died before she could graduate. If she hadn’t gone to the group home. If she hadn’t run off to live with Randy. If they’d found her and taken her in sooner. If, if, if.

“Too many hypotheticals, man. You’re gonna get lost in ‘em,” Dean warns softly, reaching over to put a hand on Cas’ shoulder; the former angel leans into the touch. “Besides, she starts college tomorrow. Fresh start and all that crap.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Cas agrees just as Mitchell hobbles up towards the car. Ducking out of the car so that Mitchell can have the front seat where there is more legroom for the cast, Cas unintentionally leaves Dean’s hand hanging for a moment until he brings it back to the ignition, and Dean misses the contact immediately.

The ride back is fairly quiet, but not uncomfortable, although Dean and Cas both express their admiration for Noah’s performance, and Mitchell accepts their praise with more than just a hint of pride in his voice.

“Thank you,” Mitchell tells them once again just before they reach the inn’s front doors. Inside, Dean can see Sam at the front desk, hunched over his laptop screen, completely unaware that they’re outside.

“No problem,” Dean shrugs.

Mitchell shakes his head, looking earnestly between the two of them. “No, I really mean it. It might sound silly, but this, this meant a ton. I don’t get to see Noah as much as I’d like anymore, and to see him doing what he loves and being so good at it…I know I’m not his dad, but…” He gives a small smile. “You probably have no idea what I’m talking about.”

“Trust me, I know exactly what you mean,” Dean assures him.

“We have a somewhat similar situation at home,” Cas explains.  _Home_. No matter how many times Cas says it, the thought of the Cas calling the bunker "home" always hits Dean right in the heart—but in a good way.

“Right,” the innkeeper says with a resolute nod. “Guess we should go relieve your brother, huh?”

“Nah, make the Sasquatch earn his keep,” Dean snarks until an elbow meets his ribs. “Hey,” he frowns at Cas, who gives him a passive, innocent look that Dean decides will deserve some payback later. He raises an eyebrow at his partner— _Don’t you start with me._

 _Bring it_ , is Cas’ smirk of a reply before entering the lobby.

Dean is definitely still frustrated that Baby got hurt, but maybe having to stop at this inn isn’t the worst fate in life.

 

Back in the room, after discovering that there is a film version of _Much Ado_ made with practically everyone in a Joss Whedon production ever that he is definitely Netflixing later, teasing be damned, Dean finally takes a minute to look up the “nothing” and _Hamlet_ references Cas had made, and he nearly spit-takes his beer when he realizes what it all means.

“Dammit, how come my teachers never told us any of this stuff? Might’ve actually paid attention,” he comments, showing his phone screen to Cas, who chuckles as he settles onto the bed next to Dean.

“Most of human literature is filled with sexual innuendo,” Cas replies. “I’m not sure why you’re surprised that one of the most famous writers of all time is no exception.”

“Well, ok, yeah, but in school it’s all ‘oooh Shakespeare’s such a poet’ and ‘the language is beautiful’ and it’s just for snobs with their noses in the air,” Dean defends.

“That’s historically inaccurate.”

“Nerd.”

“So does this mean you’re now a snob for enjoying the play?” Cas teases.

“Hell no. Sorry, man, you got stuck slumming it with me,” Dean answers jokingly, chucking Cas on the shoulder. On some days, he might mean that in earnest, but today he’s in too good a mood for self-loathing.

“Hmm,” Cas replies for the second time that night. He twists onto his side, facing Dean. "Well, if you get to say being with you is 'slumming it,' then I must ask, only to be fair, 'For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?'"

Dean’s jaw drops open slightly. “Please tell me you’re quoting the play or some shit.”

“Of course.”

“I ain’t answering in poetry,” Dean responds. “You really want an answer?”

“Only if you want to give one,” Cas concedes with a rumble of laughter underneath his words.

Dean smirks, then holds up his hand, ticking off each part of the list. “All right. You’re like a freaking encyclopedia of weird crap—and that’s saying something, considering I’ve spent most of my adult life with Sam. And Bobby. Your 'people skills are rusty.’” Cas gives him a look. Dean rolls his eyes. “You’re getting better. Anyway, you’re infuriatingly independent sometimes. And you’re stubborn as hell. Oh, and worst of all, you don’t let me get away with shit. And I’m like, at least 90% shit, so that can be a problem.”

“Interesting,” Cas comments, a smile playing at his lips. “My list is fairly similar.”

“Amazing we haven’t killed each other yet,” Dean replies, pushing himself up from the mattress and over Cas, kissing him as deeply as their suppressed laughter will allow.

“‘Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably,’” Cas murmurs when they have broken apart.

“Fuckin’ nerd,” Dean grins, then stops Cas' mouth.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who wants an explanation of the "nothing" and _Hamlet_ references:
> 
> The "nothing" in the play's title is a triple pun:  
> 1) the lies about Hero cheating on Claudio are just that--lies--so the entire main conflict of the play is literally over nothing  
> 2) "nothing" was pronounced closer to "noting" in the 1500s, so it's a reference to how much eavesdropping goes on in the play (which leads to most of the miscommunication/conflict)  
> 3) "nothing" is slang for a woman's nether regions, and since the main conflict of the play revolves around Hero's (allegedly lack of) virginity, there is indeed "much ado about nothing"
> 
> Don't believe me on #3? Check out this dialogue from _Hamlet_ 3.2:  
>  HAMLET: Lady, shall I lie in your lap?  
> OPHELIA: No, my lord.  
> HAMLET: I mean, my head upon your lap?  
> OPHELIA: Ay, my lord.  
> HAMLET: Do you think I meant country matters? [Note--take a guess what "country" is supposed to be a pun for...]  
> OPHELIA: I think nothing, my lord.  
> HAMLET: That's a fair thought to lie between maids' legs.  
> OPHELIA: What is, my lord?  
> HAMLET: Nothing.
> 
> And they say there's nothing educational in fanfic...
> 
> (Oh and if you haven't seen the Whedon production of _Much Ado_ , you should. The Kenneth Branagh/Emma Thompson one is also fantastic. As is the David Tennant/Catherine Tate one. Basically, pick your fandom and get some Shakespeare.)
> 
> (Last thing, I promise: the title of the chapter is a quote from the play, and the last line is a spin on a quote. Weirdly, they're all Benedick quotes in this, which is weird only because Beatrice is my spirit animal.)


	8. Monster Mash

** Minnesota **

 

After discovering the abandoned farmhouse, Donna and Garth had driven silently back to the station.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll turn up,” Donna had tried to reassure Garth. “Jessa’ll be ok.”

“Yeah, I know she can take care of herself,” Garth had sighed with regret. “Still haven’t heard back from Bess about the blonde girl. Bet she’s trying to catch a few z’s while the babies are asleep.”

“Any word from Sam and Dean?” Donna had asked. “They still coming tomorrow?”

“Naw, nothing. But I’m sure Dean’s in no mood to talk if his car’s all busted up. Sam ‘n Cas are probably just ducking for cover.”

Donna had laughed, and then they’d fallen silent again. Now, a few hours of restless sleep later, Donna is being awoken by a phone call. Blearily, she gropes around the unfamiliar motel bedside table for her phone—downside of being a sheriff of a decent-sized county: jobs aren’t always easy to get home from—and answers without even really looking at the caller ID.

“Sheriff Hanscum,” she rasps out.

“Morning, Sheriff. Sorry to bother you. It’s Officer Stover, by the way. Doug? Anyway, I think we got a hit on that suspect.”

Immediately, Donna sits up in bed, snapping into work mode, and already reaching for her uniform on the chair.

“Alrighty, where’d you track her?”

“Deer’s Point Motel. You know the one?”

“Sure do. Is it just you there, Doug?” she asks, inwardly grimacing at the familiarity, and she kicks herself in a reminder to be more professional. She takes out her embarrassment by pulling her hair into a tight bun while cradling the phone against her cheek and shoulder.

“Yes, sir. Want me to bring her in?”

“No, don’t do that. Wait for me to get there. I’m on my way,” Donna adds as she leaves the room, hurrying down the hall towards Garth’s room.  

 

“Hey there, Officer Stover,” Garth greets Doug once Donna pulls up in the cruiser. “Nice work tracking them down.”

“Not a problem, Agent. And good morning, Sheriff. Good to see you again,” Officer Stover smiles.

“You too,” Donna replies, also grinning, and then she toasts him with her coffee. “Nothing like a good case and cup of joe to get you up in the morning.”

Doug nods in amused agreement, then asks, “So what’s the plan? Surround the room in case she tries to escape?”

“Actually, Doug, my man—can I call you Doug?” Garth asks, and Doug nods. “Awesome. Actually, I was gonna go in there first. I think I know the suspect, and I don’t think she’s as guilty as it seems. Play my cards right, we can wrap this puppy up quick and go grab brunch.”

Officer Stover looks to Donna in confirmation.

“He’s the Fed,” Donna shrugs. “You sure, though, Agent? You don’t want back up?”

“Nah, I’ll call you if I need you,” Garth assures them, then heads towards room 19.

As soon as Garth is presumably out of earshot, Officer Stover turns to Donna. “Sheriff, what’s going on? We got a witness who says this girl _beheaded_ some guy. And now this Fed is going to just waltz in there?”

“He’s—” Donna starts to say (although what she was going to follow it with, she’ll never know) when a loud crash and yell sounds from the motel room Garth had just disappeared into. Both of them immediately draw their guns and approach the door from either side. Donna gives a nod to Doug, and she kicks open the ajar door, with Doug following close behind.

Inside, they find Garth pinned to the floor by their mysterious blonde girl, while another girl, who can only be Jessa, is trying to pull them apart.

“I know him, Kate!” Jessa is trying to tell the blonde, but the other girl, Kate, apparently, pushes her off with an elbow, and instead turns her attention to the newcomers.

Kate’s eyes are ferally yellow and Donna tries not to react at the long, sickly claws that are still wrapped around Garth’s neck. Doug, however, does let out as gasp.

“Sheriff…” he says, caution and terror heavy in his voice. Donna just keeps her gun trained on Kate, even though she knows the bullets in her gun won’t do anything. Well, nothing fatal.

“Hey, whoa, Kate, right?” Garth gasps, grabbing her hands and prying them off of his neck while she’s distracted. Kate regains her grip, but instead pins his hands to the floor by his shoulders. Her nostrils flare.

“You’re one of us?” she snarls.

“Yeah, yes, that’s what Jessa’s been saying! Matthew’s my wife’s cousin!” Garth explains. Kate sits up, letting go of Garth’s wrists. “We cool?”

“And them?” Kate asks, gesturing to Donna and Doug.

Holstering her weapon, Donna turns to Doug and gently pushes his arm down. Slowly, he holsters his own weapon, but the look on his face is definitely one of skepticism and horror.

“We’re on your side,” Donna tells her.

“We are? Sheriff, what the heck…?” Doug hisses out.

Kate peers at them, then lets her claws retract and her eyes return to their normal hazel-green. Garth hauls himself off the floor.

“Obviously, we got a lot to talk about. Doug, hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we’re werewolves. Well, not Sheriff Donna. But werewolves are real, and the other vic in this was a vampire,” Garth announces grimly, and Jessa puts a steadying hand on his shoulder when he winces from having been tackled.

“You know about this, Sheriff?” Doug asks in shock.

Donna gives him a guilty shrug. “I might have killed a vampire last year?”

“Might have killed a vampire last year…” Doug repeats breathlessly, one hand unconsciously smoothing his moustache. “Right. Sure.”

“We’re not all bad,” Jessa pipes up from the other side of the room, but Doug still doesn’t look convinced. Donna doesn’t blame him. She remembers quite clearly when Jody had given her “the talk”.

“Doug, why doncha take five, ok?” Donna suggests, with a gentle nudge towards the door.

“What, and leave you?” he replies.

Hands on her hips, she stares down the officer as best she can, despite being a good six inches shorter than him. “You saying I can’t take care of myself? Need someone to protect me?”

“No, no, no…” Doug stutters, and Donna feels a little bad for bristling so easy, but it kind of comes with the territory of being a woman in such a male-dominated career. “That’s not...Sheriff, they’re _werewolves_.”

“Uh huh. And Garth’s one of the good guys. I promise. If he says we’re safe, we’re safe,” Donna says, her voice softening with reassurance. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Garth smile a little at her vote of confidence.

“Fine. But I’m still staying.” Doug crosses his arms, the picture of immovability.

“Great, cop involvement,” Kate grumbles, crossing her own arms.

“Hey, now, let’s all just talk this out, ok?” Garth opens his hands in a placating gesture. “No need to tear each other’s throats out. Literally or figuratively.” Kate shoots him a look. “Alrighty, you girls wanna tell us what happened? And Jessa, are you ok? I’m so sorry about your dad and aunt.”

At the mention of Matthew and Holly, Jessa’s eyes tear up, but she chokes them back. “Thanks. I’m, uh...I’m ok. Well, no I’m not, but…” She shrugs. Kate’s shoulders slump perceptibly, and she moves to comfort the younger girl.

“Hey, it’s ok,” Kate tells her. “I promised you, I’d watch out for you, right? We’re gonna get these guys.”

“What guys?” Donna asks. “More vamps?”

“There’s three of ‘em,” Jessa explains.

“Three more, at least,” Kate adds. “They showed up about two weeks after Matthew and Holly took me in. Said they were looking for a place they could live off the grid, get a farm like Matthew and Holly did, feed off animals, you know?”

“Aunt Holly and Dad said they could work the farm for room and board in the farmhands’ bunker until they got their own place,” Jessa whispers.

“Let me guess, didn’t work so well?” Garth asks sadly.

“Did for a while. Then they turned a girl, brought her back. Some runaway they came across. Matthew and Holly confronted them, and they killed them,” Kate finishes. “So I took out that bastard, Miguel; he was their leader.”

“Any idea where the rest of them are?” Donna wonders, but Jessa and Kate both shake their heads. “Okie dokie, then. Doug, we gotta get descriptions from them, put out an alert, but make sure we play what's really going on close to the chest. Got that?”

“Uh, sure, Donna...Sheriff.” Doug blinks at the rapid-fire commands, but at least he looks like he’s taking the news fairly well.

“Doug, you gonna be ok? I know it’s a lot to take in,” Garth asks.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Doug nods. Finally, he looks to Donna and gives her a weak smile. “And here I was thinking the scariest part of my week would be asking you out for coffee.”

Donna raises an eyebrow. “How do you know that still won’t be the scariest part?” she teases.

“I, uh…” Doug falters.

“C’mon, Stover, we got work to do,” she says, elbowing him lightly. But, she can’t quite fight back the smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

 

 

** South Dakota **

 

Jody crosses the cabin where they’d finally tracked the arachne; it hadn’t been too difficult to find another property under the same name about twenty miles west of the cabin where they’d found the two women. She sticks out a hand, and Officer Chiang takes it gratefully as he pulls himself up off the floor.

“So what do we do with the...what’d you call it? An arachne?” Chiang asks, wiping blood off the side of his face with the cuff of his sleeve. In his other hand, a machete drips with blood, and the two officers look down at the decapitated body in front of them.

“Burn it, bury it,” Jody answers grimly.

“And then?”

“We say the suspect got away.”

Officer Chiang gives a sardonic snort. “Have fun writing that report, boss.”

“Yeah, well, perks of being Sheriff,” Jody remarks. “C’mon, Chiang. I ain’t burying this body on my own.” 


	9. Hunting 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting two chapters at once! Make sure you didn't miss the last one!

** Kansas **

 

The alarm on her phone starts chiming obnoxiously, and Claire rolls over to silence it. She hadn’t been asleep because her brain just wouldn’t shut off knowing that she _had_ to be up earlyish. Instead, she’d just laid in bed, staring at the concrete ceiling, half-asleep, and half-awake. Groaning, she sits up, then shuffles down the hallway towards the bathroom.

After a nice long shower, she thinks she’s starting to feel somewhat human. So, she wraps herself in her bathrobe (a fluffy blue one because unlike Dean, she thinks wearing a dead guy robe is just weird and gross), and takes advantage of the fact that the guys are away on a hunt by going to the kitchen without getting fully dressed. A cup of coffee later and she thinks she’s finally ready to face her first day of college.

Before she leaves, she gets a text from Cas, who of course wishes her good luck from all three of them. If anyone else were around, she might have scowled or rolled her eyes at all the emojis in the message. Truth is, she sorta likes them. Cas is dorky and awkward, but it’s kind of sweet.

She tosses her laptop-heavy backpack into the car and heads out, windows open to catch the last of the summer air. The community college is about an hour away, but the classic Ford loves the open road almost as much as Dean’s car does.

Finding a parking space is harder than she’d expected for a commuter school, but she eventually finds a spot not too far from the building where her first class is: Introductory Spanish. She’d taken some Spanish in high school, but barely enough to graduate, and her academic advisor at the college had told her that a lot of four-year colleges would want more credits in a foreign language.

She wonders if learning to speak Enochian would count.

Latin would be more practical if she’d wanted to become a hunter or help out on cases, but when she’d suggested it, Dean’s jaw had clenched so hard that she’d been worried he’d shatter his teeth. So here she is, taking Spanish. Again. Yippee.

The class is a mix of students of all ages, although she’s fairly certain she’s one of the youngest. Most of them look like they’re in their twenties or early thirties, but there’s one woman in mom-jeans and a baggy sweatshirt who’s probably in her forties, and an older man with a shock of white hair above watery blue eyes that peer out from behind Harry Potter glasses.

The desks are arranged in two concentric U-shapes, and Claire would opt for one of the spaces in the back corner, but they’re already filled. Instead, she ends up in a desk in the inner U, right near the front. Across from her is a girl about her age who looks extremely nervous, and so Claire gives her what she hopes is an encouraging smile before slumping back into her chair.

While waiting for the professor to arrive, one of the other students gets up to crack a window to let some air into the stuffy room, but the pane doesn’t budge. Claire ducks into her bag onto the floor and fishes out a hair elastic, quickly whipping her hair into a single long braid to cool the back of her neck.

“Nice tattoo,” a deepish voice says from her right. Surprised, she turns to find a guy who looks to be about thirty, smirking slightly. He’s covered in ink, his eyebrow is pierced, and she’s fairly confident that his skinny jeans would barely fit over her forearm.

“Thanks,” she shrugs, and is about to introduce herself when the professor, a stern looking man with a permanent scowl etched on his forehead, comes in.

“Buenos días y bienvenidos,” he greets the class, though, judging from his tone, ‘welcome’ is the furthest thing from his mind. “Je m’appelle Carlos Rodriguez, et je suis...” he pauses in confusion, and someone on the other side of the room snorts.

“Uh, I thought this was a Spanish class?” the woman in mom-jeans frowns with one hand raised, while the other holds her schedule in front of her. “Do I have the wrong place?”

“My apologies,” he says. “I’m not sure where that came from. As I was saying, bienvenue et je suis votre professeur…” He stops again, and shakes his head as if to clear it.

Claire’s Spanish is pretty rusty, but she’s fairly confident that whatever he’s saying is _not_ Spanish. French maybe?

''Professor?" someone asks worriedly.

“Je ne sais, je ne...” the professor stutters. “Quoi?”

“Dude, he’s stroking out!” another voice calls out, but then the professor pitches forward, right towards Claire’s desk. His face is quickly turning red, and he starts scrabbling at his neck as if he’s being choked. Claire bolts up and rushes to him, absently realizing that Tattoo Guy is right behind her. The other students start to crowd around, and someone finally thinks to call 911.

As she crouches on the floor next to the professor, something catches her eye near the base of the podium: a small cloth pouch.

“You got a lighter?” she asks Tattoo Guy, as she starts to crawl towards the hex bag. Tattoo Guy, who is still standing, however, follows her gaze, then grabs the pouch, digs a lighter out of his pocket, and sets the hex bag on fire.

Instantly, the professor’s gasping eases, but before anyone can question what the hell just happened, the fire alarm and sprinklers go off. Several students help the professor to his feet, and the class rushes out of the building. All except the nervous girl, who Claire now realizes is just slowly getting up from her desk and walking out as if in a daze. Grabbing her bag, Claire hurries out of the room and onto the quad.

She nearly runs into Tattoo Guy, but she’s got more pressing matters at hand.

“Hey,” Tattoo Guy says, catching her arm. “Where you going?”

“Her!” Claire points at the nervous girl, then pushes past the guy. It’s only when his arm flashes out again that she notices the same anti-possession tattoo inked on his forearm. No wonder he’d commented on hers. “You a hunter?”

“Close enough,” he answers evasively. “C’mon.”

He jogs off in the direction of the girl who is trying to slip away through the crowd of unhappy, soaking wet students and professors staring at the building while firetrucks sound off in the distance.

They catch up with the girl, Tattoo Guy grabbing her by the arm far more forcefully than he had with Claire.

“I didn’t know!” the girl stammers out before they can even ask a question. Claire’s eyebrows shoot up to her forehead. “It wasn’t supposed to do that!”

“Alright, what do you mean, ‘it wasn’t supposed to do that?’” Claire asks. “You nearly killed him!”

“Start at the beginning,” Tattoo Guy commands, his voice surprisingly stern for a wispy guy in skinny jeans. The girl’s eyes go wide at the promised threat lacing his words.

“Professor Rodriguez failed me last semester and he was a total jerk to me, so I found this spell. My grandfather had all these old books and…”

“You thought ‘oh hey, why not kill the guy who killed my GPA?’” Claire scoffs angrily.

“I didn’t want to kill him! Just make him forget Spanish!” Her lower lip is trembling, and Claire just wants to smack her on sheer principle. “I must have translated something wrong…”

“Wait, so a Spanish professor failed you for sucking at a foreign language and you decided the best course of action was a spell that you _translated_ from another fucking foreign language?” Tattoo Guy deadpans, voicing exactly what Claire has been thinking.

“Did you ever think maybe you deserved that grade?” Claire adds, just as dryly, though there’s an undercurrent of anger.

“Umm…” the girl mutters, tucking a lock of mousy brown hair behind her ear.

It’s funny: everyone talks about Cas’ “smiting expression,” assuming it’s part of his angelic qualities. Truth is, it’s a Novak look, and one that Claire puts into full force as she looms over the smaller girl.

“Go home. Consider yourself lucky no one got seriously hurt. Or dead. But keep in mind, we’re hunters, and if we find out you’re into anymore witchcraft, we will kill you,” she growls, her voice dangerously low. The girl’s eyes widen and flick between the two of them, but their returning stares are cold and unflinching. Without another word, she scurries off.

“Whoa, you really gonna kill her?” Tattoo Guy asks once they’re alone.

“Probably not,” Claire admits, though she’s still breathing heavily with anger. “But my family’s all hunters. They wouldn’t hesitate if she crosses the line.”

“Shit,” Tattoo Guy breathes. Claire’s brow furrows.

“What?”

“I’m not a hunter,” he shrugs, then sticks out a hand. “Name’s Reese, by the way.”

Claire shakes it a little warily, but offers her own name in reply. “So if you’re not a hunter…”

“My sister is. When she asked me to ink her up a protection sigil, I figured I might as well get one myself.”

“Your sister’s a hunter? But you’re not?” she asks, thinking of Sam and Dean.

“Hey, just because my cousin joined the Navy last year didn’t mean I had to enlist, too,” Reese replies. “My sister got pulled into it.”

“What was her tragedy? She lose someone, too?”

Reese quirks an eyebrow. “Nah. I mean, her cat died about six months before she began hunting, but that’s not what got her started. Hell, the only tragedy is that she’s the one who walked away from 60k a year to hunt, and somehow I’m still the screw up in the family.”

“Oh,” is Claire’s only reply to that, feeling decidedly uncomfortable with Reese’s cavalier attitude towards hunting. Reese seems to catch her attitude and the cocky grin fades from his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have…”

“No, it’s fine. You didn’t know.” Claire forces a half-smile on her face. “60k a year, huh?”

Reese breathes a little easier, obviously grateful for Claire’s forgiveness. “Uh, yeah. She got hired at a biotech company right out of college, was working late one night, she and a co-worker stumbled on a ghost case, and they’ve been hunting ever since. Got married last year.”

A sudden thought occurs to Claire, and she swings her bag off her shoulder to fish out a pen and scrap of paper. Thankfully, the water from the sprinklers hadn’t had a chance to really soak the bag, sparing her laptop and all but the tips of the pages of one notebook. She quickly writes down a name and a phone number, then hands it to Reese.

“Um, thanks for the number, but I’m taken." Holding up his left hand, he waggles his fingers to show off a simple silver band.

Claire rolls her eyes. “Give that number to your sister. Sam’s one of the hunters in my family and he basically runs the hunter network now, so if they ever need anything, they should call him.”

“There’s a network?” Reese asks in amazement.

“You have no idea,” Claire remarks just as her phone buzzes in her pocket. “Speak of the devil,” she says with a chuckle when she sees that it’s Sam who has texted her.

“You gonna tell ‘em about this?”

Claire considers the question, then shakes her head. “Not today. They’re on their way to a hunt, and knowing my dads, they’ll turn around and come here, guns blazing. Or they’ll follow me around campus to all my classes and make sure I won’t get hurt.”

With a huff of a laugh, Reese replies, “I wouldn’t put it past my sister to do the same. Kendall might be my little sister, but I don’t think she ever got the memo.”

“Well, for not being hunters, we make a pretty good team,” Claire allows.

“Let’s just hope we don’t have to again.” Then, Reese snickers, “So, you think that lesson’ll be on the final?”

“If it is, I think we’re gonna get A’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reese's sister's backstory is unabashedly a play off of Zachariah's ploy in 4x17 "It's a Terrible Life". I just really liked the idea of someone getting into hunting, not because of personal tragedy, but because they stumbled into it and decided hunting was important work.
> 
> (Also, if there are any errors in the Spanish or French, please let me know!)


	10. On the Road Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter, but the next one is going to be more actiony, so it needs its own space. Hope this'll tide you over till then. :)

**Iowa**

When Cas awakes the morning after the play, he’s disoriented by the unfamiliar setting and the emptiness of the other half of the bed. But, after fumbling for his phone on the nightstand, his brain finally kicks slightly more into gear (as much as it would pre-caffeine), and he remembers where he is.

A cup of complimentary hotel coffee, a shower, and a fresh set of clothes later find Cas in the inn’s parking lot while Dean puts the finishing touches on Baby. Cas makes the mistake of asking Dean what was wrong with the car, launching his partner into a detailed explanation about the damage to the exhaust system that Cas cuts off.

“Can we get to Minnesota?” he asks impatiently.

“Yeah. I’ll need to replace some parts when we get back before they rust out ‘cause they’re dented to all hell, but she’ll hold together for a while,” Dean nods, running a protective hand over the car’s hood.

By eightish, they’ve checked out of their rooms and are back on the road. Mitchell thanks Dean and Cas again profusely for the chauffeuring, and even hobbles out of the lobby on his crutches to get a good look at the car he’d only admired from afar the night before. Dean pops the hood and talks shop with the innkeeper for a few minutes before they all shake hands and the hunters depart.

Just as they pull out of the lot, Cas notices Sam give a nod and a wave to a young woman with a baby coming out of the main entrance, but Sam just shrugs innocently at Cas’ questioning stare, and Cas feels no need to pursue the matter.

“Anyone heard from Donna or Garth today?” Dean asks once they’re back on the highway. Cas simply shakes his head from the backseat, having told Sam to take the front where there is more legroom. Besides, the passenger seat will always truly belong to the younger Winchester.

“No,” Sam answers, then reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone, which Cas can hear faintly buzzing once removed from the folds of the jacket. “Hey, Jody...Yeah, we’re good. So it was an arachne, huh? Everything taken care of?...Good. Say hi to Alex for us...Yeah, you too. Bye.”

“Jody?” Dean comments once Sam hangs up the phone.

“Yeah,” Sam half-laughs. “Last night was hunter central: Jody had an arachne case, Krissy called with a CEO shapeshifter case...”

Dean looks over at his younger brother sharply. “Krissy’s crew’s going after a shapeshifter?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, Dean...” Sam begins, but Cas can tell Dean is about thirty seconds from doing something irrational.

“Dean,” Cas says to Dean’s clenching jaw. “Sam says Krissy is fine. We can’t be everywhere at once, and turning the car around right now will not solve anything.”

“Plus, they needed a hacker, so I got Charlie on the case. She’s driving up to them today,” Sam adds.

“Fine,” Dean huffs in resignation, but eventually a smirk creeps up onto his face and he shoves his brother playfully. “Check out Bobby, Jr. over here.”

“Shut up,” Sam grumbles, ever the younger sibling.

A buzzing from Cas’ own pocket distracts him momentarily from the brothers’ banter, and he finds a text from Claire, most likely in response to his earlier well-wishes for her first day of college. When he opens it, a frown and a smile war on his face.

“Cas? You ok?” Dean asks, green eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror.

“Claire’s response,” Cas answers, passing the phone up to Sam, who holds it so Dean can see what the girl has sent.

Although Claire has said she doesn’t really want to be a hunter, she still hasn’t completely bought into the idea of college—especially after her less than positive experiences with high school. But, she’s trying it, even though Cas suspects she’ll never be completely out of the supernatural world. Lately, however, she seems to delight in making them worry that she’ll drop out and become a full-fledged hunter—hence her response to Cas’ text.

Instead of responding with a simple “thanks” or calling him a doof, or something to that effect—as he’d mostly expected—she’s sent a picture captioned, “Thanks! Think ive got all my school supplies...am i missing anything?” The picture is of her backpack, her laptop, a notebook, a deadly looking knife, and a book in Enochian.

Cas hopes she’s not serious about the knife and the book. But, knowing Claire, she might be.

“I’m gonna kill her,” Dean mutters when he sees the message. “She’s joking, right?”

“Calm down, Dean,” Sam chuckles. “You know she does it just to piss you guys off.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not funny.”

“It kinda is,” Sam counters, a smile still on his face, which Cas echoes.

“Don’t tell me you’re on her side,” Dean scowls into the rearview mirror, but Cas can see the cracks in the mask.

“Of course not,” Cas answers. “I hardly think that book is appropriate. There are better ones in the library.”

“Sonofabitch,” Dean swears softly, but he’s grinning slightly as Sam returns Cas’ phone.

Cas rereads the text thread, fondly picturing Claire on her way to college, then returns his phone to his pocket. At least one of them is having a normal day.


	11. Batting Practice

**Minnesota**

 

Ok, so maybe it’s not her first choice, but having werewolves on the team is kinda handy. 

After getting the scoop from Kate and Jessa, and spending some time convincing Doug that he isn’t going crazy (or that they aren’t crazy), the rag-tag team have managed to track down the vamps to an abandoned and bankrupt housing development in the next town over. Sure, old fashioned police work and surveillance cameras had gotten them into the general vicinity, but werewolf senses are apparently much better for close-quarters work.

“That one,” Kate says with certainty, pointing to one of the near-finished townhouses near the back of the property, close to the woods. Garth and Jessa confirm with solemn nods while Doug eyes the machete in his hands dubiously.

Donna looks down at her phone, rereading the text she got from Sam saying they were about twenty miles out of town. She does some quick mental math after looking at the timestamp on the message, then says, “Sam n’ Dean should be here in probably ten minutes or so.” Quickly, she taps out a message telling them where they are.

Kate pulls up abruptly from the crouch she’d been in while peeking around the edge of a garage a few lots over from the vampires’ hideout. “Sam and Dean?”

“You know ‘em?” Garth asks, but his eyes flick to Donna’s and she knows that he also has pick up on the hesitation in the girl’s voice.

“Yeah, I’ve met them a few times.”

“So when you say you’ve met the boys, you mean you got away from them or they let you go?” Donna asks, not liking the suspicion in her voice, but preferring it to being taken for a fool...or ending up dead. No way José is anyone pulling the wool over Donna Hanscum’s eyes. 

Kate snorts indignantly, but Jessa pipes up on her behalf, “Kate’s never killed anyone. No one human. That’s why Dad and Aunt Holly…” The younger girl’s voice trails off, laced with pain and loss. Kate puts a protective hand on her shoulder, then squares her shoulders as she faces Donna.

“I’m here helping  _ you _ kill vamps who killed  _ her  _ family. You don’t think I’m trustworthy? Call Sam and Dean. See what they say,” she challenges.

“Alrighty, let’s not get fired up,” Garth interjects, and something about his unimposing peacemaking makes both Donna and Kate deflate slightly.

“So how many are in there?” Doug chimes in, his hands gripping and regripping the machete with obvious unfamiliarity. Donna gets it: give her her service weapon over a blade any day.

“Just think of it like T-ball as a kid,” she says to him out of the corner of her mouth. Unfortunately, Doug just blanches at that, and so Donna gives him her brightest, and most apologetic, smile in an attempt to cheer him back up.

“Three, we think,” Jessa answers, ignoring or unaware of the interaction between the two officers. “There’s the runaway; she’s new. Kendra? I think? Then Lucas and Daisy are—”

“We’re hunting a vampire named Daisy?” Donna asks, amused and trying not to let the thought of another dangerous hunt weaken her gumption. She elbows Doug, adding, “Don’t exactly strike fear into your heart, y'know?”

“Probably because they’re more concerned with striking teeth into your neck,” Kate deadpans. Donna purses her lips and shoots her a look, which Kate returns steadily.

“Ok,” Garth says with a clap of his hands. “We stake out the place, scope it all out, then when the Winchesters get here, we can—” 

A scream from the house pierces the air and seems to echo around the half-built homes. At once, the group rushes towards the house, silently agreeing to split up and approach from the back and the front of the house. Donna finds herself with Doug and Jessa, while Kate and Garth circle around to the back. She tries not to think too hard about the yellow eyes and fangs the three werewolves are currently sporting.

In an unconscious mimicry of how the two officers had approached the motel room just hours before, they each take their positions on either side of the door, with Jessa taking a spot behind Donna. Doug gives Donna a nod, and she gives the door a solid kick right near the lock.

Nothing. Except for shooting pain in her leg from the reverberations. “Doug!” she hisses, and he steps into her place. This time, however, the door and part of the jamb shatter enough for them to push open the door and rush into the hall. Jessa, surprisingly, overtakes them and leads the charge.

“You just loosened it for me,” Doug mutters with a small smile as they cross the threshold. 

“Darn right I did,” Donna breathes.

Noises from below them take them to the kitchen, where they find a door leading to the basement stairs. Just as Jessa is about to turn the knob someone on the other side whips it open with inhuman force, catching the girl right in the face and knocking her back on the floor. 

The vampire—Daisy, if Donna were to guess—is a small slip of a woman: barely five foot and maybe ninety pounds soaking wet.  Even so, she bares her teeth and launches herself at Doug, who half catches her by the wrists and they fall to the floor, scrabbling at each other. Absently, Donna is aware of Garth and Kate rushing into the kitchen as well and going to Jessa’s aid. Donna, however, is trying to get a clean shot of the vampire wrestling Doug. The vampire has one hand around Doug’s throat, and he wrenches his head, trying to break free.

“Doug, T-ball!” Donna calls in the split second that the other officer makes eye-contact with her. 

If Doug could have nodded, Donna’s sure he would have. In any case, he manages to push the vampire up off of him a little, one hand on her neck, forcing her head up. Donna pulls up the machete and swings, hoping that Doug’s reflexes are as good as they need to be in this moment.

Blood spatters and there’s a sickening series of thunks as the vampire’s head flies into a wall then lands on the tile floor. Donna blinks open her eyes, having closed them at the last second to avoid the spray. Doug is covered in blood, has a decapitated body on his chest, and is wearing a look of horror and shock. 

“You moved your hand in time!” Donna exclaims in relief.

“Heh, yeah,” Doug says in a near-manic laugh, pushing the vampire body off of him, and distractedly taking the hand she offers to get him back on his feet. 

It’s only now that Donna realizes that Garth and Kate are no longer in the kitchen. Jessa is still against the wall, nursing her head and face in her hands, while the cellar door is still open and Donna can hear a kerfuffle below her.

“I’m ok,” Jessa mumbles when Donna crouches next to her, letting go of her weapon for the moment. 

“Fudge,” Donna huffs, fairly convinced the poor girl’s got a concussion and will be sporting a pretty fantastic black eye soon, if the puffy bruise around her cheekbone is any indication. “Can you get her outside?” Donna asks Doug. The officer nods stoically, though perhaps a little dazedly, and he picks up the teen in a bridal carry, heading to the door. 

Grabbing her machete once more, Donna heads towards the basement, and just as she hits the first step, she hears the tell-tale roar and rumble of the Impala outside. With the added confidence of backup on its way, she descends the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think this will be two (possibly three) more chapters. Hopefully, I'll be able to knock them out this week since I don't have work. :)
> 
> Oh, fun fact: Google Docs kept trying to correct the line "Kate pulls up abruptly from the crouch she’d been in" to "Kate pulls up abruptly from the crotch she’d been in". Now _that_ would've made for an interesting chapter...


	12. Garth'd

**Minnesota**

 

It’s a sad commentary on his life that Dean’s first thought as he pulls up to the townhouse Donna had directed them to is, “At least it’s not an old warehouse or factory.” Looks like these vampires like a modicum of comfort more than the average nasty they hunt.

On the unfinished front lawn, however, is the disquieting sight of a bloody police officer carrying a girl who can’t be of drinking age and whose head rests unconscious on the man’s chest. Sam and Cas are practically out of the car before Dean even has a chance to put Baby in park and turn off the ignition.

“They’re inside—vampires,” the officer says breathlessly, then shakes his head when he notices them, Cas in particular, trying to examine him for injury. “The blood’s not mine.”

“And the girl?” Cas asks with urgency. Ever since falling, Cas has made it his mission to learn all he can about human medicine. Despite an early argument between Dean and Cas about motivations—Cas had seemed to think that he would not be welcome if he was, in his words, “useless” due to his lack of Grace, and of course Dean had disagreed vehemently with that assessment—Cas’ knowledge has started to rival, and likely surpasses, that of the brothers’, who are just as happy to have a competent field medic.  

“Concussion, I think,” the officer says as he crouches, laying the girl in the grass, but still supporting her head and shoulders. Cas crouches as well, then turns to Sam and Dean.

“I’ll watch over them,” he declares, and without another word, the brothers charge into the house, machetes glinting dully in the late afternoon sun.

The kitchen is a literal bloodbath, even though there is only one decapitated body; the spray covers a good portion of wall and tile floor, and Dean absently thinks that it’s no wonder that the officer had been only a few drops short of Carrie at the prom. Next to the body is a door open to reveal stairs to a basement, and Dean and Sam quickly descend, following the sounds of voices.

The scene in the cellar is like a bad reunion episode of his life with special guest stars. _Christ, there probably_ _is_ _an episode of my life like this out there in some fucked up other universe,_ he thinks grimly. _Probably a fuckton of books and shit, too._ Luckily, these thoughts stop before they really get started as he assesses the situation before him with a critical hunter’s eye .

On the way here, Sam had filled them in on what he’d gleaned from the police report Donna had sent, including his guess that Kate might be the blonde suspect. Apparently, he’d been right. Of course, they hadn’t been sure if Kate had gone rogue or if she would be on their side, and the argument playing out in the cellar does little to answer that question at first.

Kate looks downright feral: claws out, eyes flashing yellow, machete stained red. Behind her is the headless body of a man in his forties (or at least, that’s how old he probably was when he was turned). On the other side of the room is another body: a young woman, in her twenties or thirties, pale and with distinct bite marks on her neck; it doesn’t take an experienced hunter to come to the conclusion that the woman has been exsanguinated. While Donna stands to the side—obviously feeling a little out of her depth, though she does give them a nervous smile of welcome when they arrive—Garth has squared off against Kate, putting himself in between the other werewolf and another young woman, tied up and looking terrified in the center of the room.

“We’re not killing her, Kate!” Garth is practically yelling, which is saying something, considering how mild-mannered the guy usually is. “She says she hasn’t drank anyone.”

“How do we know that? She was with _them_ ,” Kate hisses, gesturing to the male’s body. “She’s been with them for days.”

“She’s not the first one who’s been able to resist feeding on humans,” Garth argues pointedly. “Take a breather, k? How ‘bout you go check on Jessa. Bet she could use a friendly face.”

Dean can only assume that Jessa is the name of the concussed girl outside. With an unsatisfied huff, Kate morphs back into her human features, and the tension of the room lifts considerably.

“Fine,” she concedes, then turns to Sam and Dean. “Nice of you guys to show up.”

“Good to see you, too, Kate,” Dean replies with only the barest hints of sarcasm. He privately congratulates himself on that. Sam gives a far more sympathetic smile and expression of greeting, and Kate returns it before heading past them for the stairs.

“Looks like we missed out on all the fun,” Dean comments once Kate’s footsteps hit the tile of the kitchen.

“Got a strange definition of ‘fun,’” Donna smiles, crossing the room to give each of them a hug, Sam first, then Dean. “You see the one upstairs?”

“Was that you?” Dean asks with approval.

“Sure was.” There's no mistaking the pride in the sheriff's voice, and Dean finds himself chuckling slightly. The sheriff might give even Charlie a run for her money in cheerfulness, and so it never ceases to amuse Dean how bad-ass both of them can be.

Sam has a similar look of appreciation on his face. "Nice work."

Donna flashes her pearly whites at them in thanks, then steps back a bit to let Garth join the group.

“Hey man,” Dean says to the other hunter, opening his arms just in time to catch Garth’s inevitable bearhug. He rolls his eyes, but he’s pretty sure everyone knows it’s mostly just for show; Garth’s grown on him, though if the hug goes on any longer, that might be more literal than figurative.

“How’s it going, amigos?” Garth practically beams at them after Dean manages to disentangle himself from the hug and the guy moves on to Sam.

“Not too bad,” Sam replies, grinning broadly. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, it’s been, what, a year?”

Dean opens his mouth to ask when Sam saw Garth only a year ago, since he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen the dude since they found out he’d gotten himself befanged and betrothed, and that had been at least a year and a half ago, if not longer. But, before he can ask, the girl tied up on the floor chimes in acerbically, “Ok, the reunion’s nice and all, but what about me?”

“Balls,” Garth whispers, and Dean wants to both cringe and grin at Garth’s continued appropriation of Bobby’s favorite word. Well, maybe second favorite: ‘idjits’ might have first place. “You guys don’t happen to have any stuff for a vampire cure, do you?”

“There’s a cure?” Donna asks with a mix of surprise and interest.

“Kinda,” Sam explains patiently and with a hint of apology. “It only works if they haven’t had any human blood.”

“Oh,” Donna exhales with relief, and Dean guesses the sheriff had started to feel guilty about her kill upstairs.

With a head-jerk in the general direction of where Baby is parked, Dean answers Garth, “We should have the stuff in the trunk.” He turns to Sam. “Dibs on bodies. You take the cure.”

Sam gives Dean a grimace, which Dean shrugs at in reply. While hauling bodies around and getting a pyre or grave together isn’t exactly a good time, it beats watching a vampire lash out and puke its guts up as it reverts back to human. Plus, Dean could do without the personal reminders of the experience.

But, naturally, Sam isn’t going without a fight. They each put out a fist, cupping it with the other hand. Wordlessly, they tap out 1, 2, 3 with their fists.

Rock. Rock.

Dean looks up in concentration, Sam in annoyance.

1, 2, 3. Scissors. Scissors.

More concentration, more annoyance.

1, 2, 3. Paper. Rock.

Dean’s lips form an ‘O’ of shock, while Sam’s eyebrows just furrow. The ‘O’ turns into a surprised grin, but Sam just shakes his head.

“Whatever, I’ve still got bodies,” Sam declares. “Donna, wanna help?”

“Oh boy,” Donna agrees with a sardonic smile, and they head upstairs.

“Ok,” Dean agrees belatedly and dazedly, turning with a proud smile and throwing out his arms in celebration as his brother and the sheriff leave.

“Dean, you won…” Garth says in confusion, but Dean ignores him, still reveling in his rare victory.

Instead, he turns to the girl, crouching down to meet her at eye-level. Her hands are bound with rope, which Dean assumes is a safety precaution, and a good one. He remembers all too well how hard it had been to control himself when he was briefly turned.

“All right,” he tells her as he calmly ties her bindings to a support column in the middle of the room. “We’re gonna make you up a cure, get you back to human. It’s gonna taste like ass and hurt like a bitch, but it’s worth it.”

“How would you know?” she scoffs, but Dean can hear the undercurrent of fear in her voice.

“Experience.” He stands up again, unconsciously brushing nonexistent dirt from his jeans, and gestures to Garth to follow him to the car.

Outside, the officer is still with Jessa and Cas, but Kate seems to have taken over care duties. Jessa is awake now, and sitting up on her own while she and Kate talk in low voices.

“Everything taken care of?” Cas asks, concern evident in his voice.

“Yeah, it’s good. Gotta cure a kid,” Dean shrugs. “Oh yeah, and, uh, Cas, this is Garth,” he adds, realizing that while both men have heard of the other, they have never formally met. Or so he thought.

“Yeah, dude, we know,” Garth says, arms open. “Bring it in, Cas. It’s been awhile.”

Dean’s amusement at Cas’ hesitation to hug the other hunter is overtaken by his confusion. “When…?”

“Last summer,” Cas admits, guiltily. “Sam and I spoke with many people when we were…”

A rock settles in Dean’s stomach at the mention of his time with black eyes, and he cuts off Cas’ explanation. “Right, got it.” Taking a deep breath, he turns to the officer, and sticks out a hand. “Dean.”

“Doug,” the other man says, taking Dean’s hand. “So you’re…?”

“Yep, hunters, too. We’re the ones who trained the sheriff,” Dean explains with a smirk and a clap on Doug’s shoulder. “Ok, cure time,” he announces as he stalks off to the car, Garth following.

“Do you need help?” Cas calls after them. Pivoting around on one foot, Dean is about to agree and redelegate duties, preferring to work with Cas, for obvious reasons, but Garth beats him to the punch.

“We got this,” Garth replies cheerfully. “Donna and Sam might need a hand, though.”

Dean mouths a helpless “sorry” in Cas’ direction, and is rewarded with slight eye-crinkles of amused understanding from his partner.

It doesn’t take long to gather the ingredients for the cure from the car and head back down to the basement, although Dean does appreciate having the extra set of hands to carry bottles, jars, and the tools to cut, crush, and mix it all together. The cure is a sickly red and smells worse than it looks. Even though it conjures up some unpleasant memories for Dean, the effect on Garth seems worse.

“Lycanthrope senses,” Garth explains, his face pinched, and he taps the side of his nose in explanation. Dean tries not to roll his eyes at the word 'lycanthrope,' remembering how much Garth and his family hated the word 'werewolf.'

“Gotcha. How about you untie her?” Dean adds with a nod. The last thing he wants is the girl’s convulsions to make her dislocate her shoulder or something as she strains against the ropes.

“Sure thing.”

In a couple of loping strides, Garth crosses the room to the girl. He stays to her side as he cuts through the ropes so that he can talk to her. “Now I know this is gonna hurt, but I want you to know that you’re safe and—”

Whatever other platitude Garth was going to offer gets cut short by the girl wrenching free of her bonds and tackling Garth to the ground, his head clunking against the concrete floor.

 _And Garth’s out for the count again,_ Dean’s brain unhelpfully supplies instead of focusing on dropping the cure, which splatters on the floor, and reaching for his machete on the table before the vampire lunges at him. He gets a few fingers on the machete handle, but not enough grip to keep the weapon from spinning away as he and the table get knocked over. With a grunt of effort, he shoves hard against the vampire, getting her off of him so that he can scramble over to the machete.

Snarling, the vampire chases after him. His fingers wrap around the handle of the weapon and in one somewhat fluid motion, he straightens up and brings back his arms, ready to deliver a powerful chop to her neck. He’s halfway through the upswing when a spray of blood hits him square in the face, and the vampire’s head and body topple down, separately, revealing Garth just behind her.

“Goddammit,” Dean grouses in genuine frustration and in the general release of adrenaline. “I’d like to kill _something_ today.”

“Sorry, dude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm unabashedly stealing the rock-paper-scissors scene from 11x13. Even though I disliked the episode, that was the one good part. (And of course, it wasn't even scripted. Says a lot about those writers, n'est-ce pas? So, credit to Jensen and Jared for that one.)
> 
> Also, I'm pretty sure that Cas and Garth have never met in canon, but I couldn't find any proof one way or another. If someone remembers more clearly and it's true that they have met, let me know and I'll fix it. :)


	13. Meanwhile...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last part of this actually takes place a couple hours after the next chapter, but it fit best here.
> 
> Also, if you haven't read the previous chapters in awhile, definitely recap Ch. 2 and Ch. 6, otherwise the first two parts in particular will seem kind of random.

**Delaware**

 

Leaning back in her chair, staring at the computer screen in front of her, Charlie resists humming the _Mission: Impossible_ theme song, if only because Krissy and her crew would be able to hear her through their earpieces. But, it’s a close call.

She thinks back to first time she met Sam and Dean, and how the roles had been reversed: she, the hacker, had been in the field. She’d bet money that Dean’d been internally singing _Mission: Impossible_ , too...except for when he’d been coaching her on how to flirt with a guy.

As if _that_ hadn’t tipped off her gaydar (which, admittedly, doesn’t usually pay that close attention to dudes, but _c’mon_ , how obvious can you get?).

“How’re we doing?” Aidan, Krissy’s friend (boyfriend? Charlie hasn’t been able to quite figure out that soap opera), asks through the speakers.

“Security guard’s still on the third floor, Lasereyes is still in his office,” Charlie confirms from the split screens on the monitors.

“Lasereyes?” Krissy chimes in while Josephine snorts a laugh.

“Hey, according to my view, he’s one step shy of taking over for Scott Summers,” Charlie answers. In the upper righthand section of the monitor, Charlie tracks the crew’s progress through the halls.

“I hate pantsuits,” Krissy grumbles for the umpteenth time. All three of them are still dressed in their intern outfits under the cover of working late.

“Girl after my own heart,” Charlie agrees. Tapping a few keys, Charlie flicks through the other security cameras. “Ok, looks like the last workaholic on the boss’ floor is heading out. She’s in the elevator lobby. Now’s your best chance.”

“Roger that,” Aidan answers. “Hey!”

Charlie smirks as she watches Josephine smack him for the exaggerated soldier-speak.

The trio heads to the stairs, casually taking weapons out of their computer bags. Charlie double checks the program to wipe the security camera’s memory banks once they’re done, then settles back to watch.

Showtime.

 

 

**Wisconsin**

 

 _Shitshitshitshit_ , is pretty much Ed’s only thought as the ghost charges at him, throwing him back against a shelf in the classroom. A cascade of colorful wooden blocks tumbles down on him—storage bucket, too—making him wince with every hit.

Across the room, Harry is faring just as poorly, though he is wooden block-free. As a result, he’s the one who calls out to Cynthia, one of the other teachers in the school, who has volunteered herself to help out on the case.

Well, volunteered is probably an exaggeration. Coming face-to-face with a ghost when all you’re trying to do is rearrange student cubbies after school kind of takes choice out of the equation.

“It’s the hair in the locket!” Harry calls out. “Burn it!”

A lighter slides across the floor from the Ghostfacer to the teacher, who snatches it up and crawls over to the overturned cubbies, where they’d found the locket of little Aubrey Graham’s late grandmother, which she’d brought in for show-and-tell.

Ed staggers up from the floor, absently dismayed to find the screen of his camera cracked. The ghost comes towards him again, and he swings out with the iron bar he’d brought; they’d both decided that salt rounds in a shotgun might not be the best thing to bring into a school, just in case. Granny Graham disappears with an inhuman shriek at the contact with the iron bar, then appears again near Cynthia, who is flicking furiously on the lighter. Finally, it sparks a flame, and the teacher loses no time in touching it to the hair.

Privately, Ed thinks there might have been enough time to get in a snappy one-liner, but he’s not going to complain when the spirit immolates and disappears forever.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Harry exclaims. “You get it on film?”

“Sorry, bro,” Ed frowns, showing him the busted camera.

“Goddammit,” Harry curses.

 

 

**Sioux Falls**

 

“Hey, lady,” Jody greets Alex, practically staggering into the kitchen.

“You look like hell,” Alex observes from over her bowl of cereal. Apparently cooking dinner is just too much effort when there’s Lucky Charms around.

“Thanks,” Jody responds dryly, then sighs heavily as she sinks into a seat opposite her adopted daughter.

“Rough day at the office or rough day at ‘the office?’” Alex asks.

“Both.” Not only had normal work been one headache after another, but having to do it on top of being exhausted from running around all night hunting an arachne had just made it worse.

“I saved the leftover salmon for you,” Alex offers, then gets up and pulls out the plate from the fridge, popping it in the microwave.

A smile pulls at the corners of Jody’s lips. She, too, gets up, heading to the counter with the wine rack. Pouring herself a glass and sipping at it while she waits for her food to heat up, the tension of the day melts off of her slightly. Back at the table, the conversation flows fairly easily between the two women, and Jody takes a moment to marvel at how far they’ve come. It still isn’t perfect by any means, and it's strained at times, but it’s getting better.

Later that night, Jody finds herself nestled on the couch with Alex dozing off on the other end while a rerun of _Modern Family_ chatters on from the TV screen. Between the fuzzy blanket and the third? glass of wine, she’s feeling warm and content.

Which is why she groans when she hears her phone go off on the coffee table.

Luckily, though, the name on the caller I.D. is a welcome intrusion.

“Hey there,” Jody answers.

“Jody-o!” Donna carols, and Jody suspects she’s not the only one hitting the booze tonight; then again, with Donna, sometimes it’s hard to tell: she’s just so damn _cheerful_. “You’re not gonna believe the case I just had.”

“Oh, I betcha I can,” Jody smiles.


	14. Clean Up Crew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting two chapters at once! (And posted one last night!) -- make sure you've caught up on all of them!

**Minnesota**

  
  


“Can’t say I love this part of the job,” Donna grunts, dropping the arms of the vampire she and Sam had recovered from the basement into the pit they’d dug in a clearing far off in the woods. Sam gives a sympathetic grimace.

“Want us to torch the place? Probably easier for you if there’s no real crime scene,” Sam offers, thinking of the blood-spattered townhouse. Arson isn’t exactly one of their specialties, but it’s not like they’re strangers to the concept.

Donna sighs. “Yeah, probably best.”

They don’t talk much as they finish their job, which goes far more quickly once Cas and the officer—Doug, apparently—pitch in. Sam tries to ignore the horrified look on Doug’s face at how casually Sam tosses matches into the gas-soaked grave. He also pretends to ignore the comforting hand Donna places on Doug’s forearm.

The two officers leave shortly after that, needing to change their clothes and be ready for the inevitable call back here to examine the crime scene. 

“Always a pleasure, Donna,” Dean says as the sheriff goes for her second round of hugs for the day. Dean gives the slightest of nods in Doug’s direction as he tells her with a knowing smirk, “And stay out of trouble.”

Donna swats him on the arm. “Could say the same about you, mister.” She leans in and whispers, though not quietly enough for Sam not to overhear, “You did good with Mr. Blue Eyes over there.”

Sam can’t keep up the pretense of not hearing any longer, and he laughs as he watches the flush creep up the back of his brother’s neck. Cas, however, does not seem to have heard Donna’s comment, and so he only tilts his head in his characteristic look of questioning and confusion. Dean scowls in Sam’s direction.

“Shut it, bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam turns to Donna. “All right, I think it’s time we gotta get out of here. You, too.”

Donna nods. “Here’s hoping something less murderous brings you back to Minnesota. Like Prince, or cheese curd fest.”

With a grin, Dean assures her, “You had me at ‘curd.’”

Shaking her head as she looks over the lawn and townhouse, Donna says, “I-I don’t know how you two do this, day in, day out. Figuring out who’s a good guy, who isn’t. Your life’s one big poop storm, isn’t it?”

“Spoken like a true hunter,” Dean replies.

“Really? Hunter?” The sheriff’s eyes light up.

“Oh, yeah. I mean, with three cases under your belt, I think you earned it,” Sam smiles.

“Yay!” The brothers grin at her remark; the sheriff’s enthusiasm is too infectious not to. “Cas, hope to see you back here. I think we got a lot to talk about.” Donna winks, elbowing Cas playfully in the process.

“That would be nice,” Cas agrees, and apparently not even a former angel’s stoicism is a match for Donna’s charms, and Cas gives her a toothy smile. And with that and a wave, the officers pile into a cruiser and head out.

Back at the townhouse, Dean and Garth have set up the place to set it alight, hopefully leaving enough evidence to make it look like squatters triggered an electrical fire. Before long, they have the flames at their backs as they drive to Kate and Jessa’s motel to get cleaned up. Even over the loud strains of Metallica and the rumble of the Impala’s engine, Sam can hear the sirens in the distance as fire trucks speed to the housing development.

While Dean goes to book them another room—they don’t plan on staying, but trying to cycle that many people through a single shower would take forever—Sam takes the opportunity to touch base with Kate. Jessa’s black eye has deepened to an unfortunate purple, and she winces as she presses the ice-filled towel Kate hands her to it. 

“I know you don’t know me n’ Bess all that well, but you and Kate are always welcome at Casa Fitzgerald—until you get back on your feet,” Garth is saying to Jessa, who smiles.

“What do you think, Kate?” 

Kate’s shoulders stiffen, but she nods. “Maybe for a little while.”

Sam stifles a snort, trying to picture Kate—brash, independent, and thoroughly modern—hanging out with Garth and his new family’s church; he’s learned from Garth in the past year that Bess has taken over for her father as leader of the church and they’ve been working hard to rid the congregation of the Ragnorak principles that had nearly torn the community—and them, literally—apart.

“Kate?” Sam interrupts, and he jerks his head in the direction of the motel room door. With a frown, she follows him to the parking lot. A few rooms down, Dean and Cas are bringing duffels from the Impala, and Sam gives his brother a nod, letting him know he’s got it covered.

“Yeah?” Kate asks, arms crossed.

“You and Jessa gonna be ok?” 

“We can take care of ourselves,” Kate says, bristling.

“I know. That’s not really what I asked.”

Kate sighs. “Yeah, we’ll be ok. Jessa’s gonna need some time, after all this, you know? But I told her I’d watch out for her. So that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“She’s not your sister.” It’s a statement and a question, and Kate’s lips purse.

“I know,” Kate agrees after a moment, and Sam has no doubt that the memories of her sister, the one she’d turned into a werewolf and then had to kill, are running through her mind. “She’s not like Tasha. But she is my sister.” 

Her chin juts out in challenge, and Sam puts up his hands in placating gesture. “I get it, I do. Trust me. Being alone in this sucks.” He pauses, looking back towards the motel room. “You’re really going to hang out with Garth?”

Kate chuckles. “I guess he’s not that bad. It’ll be good for Jessa, I think. Family.”

And Sam can’t argue with that. 

 

An hour or so later, they’re all back in the parking lot, repacking up the Impala from their impromptu layover at the motel. Garth jogs up to them, and Sam leans back against the car’s frame.

“You guys didn’t think you could sneak out without saying adiós, did you?” Garth chides them.

“‘Course not,” Dean allows, looking far more relaxed now that he’s gotten rid of the vampire blood he’d been hit with down in the basement. “So, you and Bess gonna be ok with two more crashing at your place?”

“Bess’ll probably be glad for the extra set of hands to help with the kiddos,” Garth grins, though his eyes widen when he registers the look of confusion on Dean’s face. 

“‘Kiddos?’” Dean repeats, and Sam can’t help but feel concerned, remembering how badly Dean had taken the news that Garth was living in the werewolf community and that there were werewolves that were  _ born _ that way.

“Dean,” he starts to warn, aware that he sounds disturbingly like Cas in this context, but Garth just brings out his phone.

“Yup. Bobby n’ Sadie. Six months old,” Garth announces proudly as he holds out his phone to Dean and Cas. 

Despite the fact that Dean’s always had a soft spot for kids, Sam worries that his brother’s hunter priorities will override that. Then again, he vaguely remembers Dean defending the shifter kid they’d taken care of when Sam was soulless, claiming that it was just a baby, not a monster. 

Even so, the instant warm smile and relief on his brother’s face surprises Sam a little bit, until Garth shows him the picture as well. Two bubbly babies, the boy (judging from the navy blue onesie with red trucks on it, compared to the other baby’s solid purple onesie) giggling as he pushes his sister’s face, who laughs at the silliness. Unless werewolf genetics are very different from human ones—which, admittedly, they probably are in many respects—Sam’s fairly certain that the twins have been adopted, if the contrast between their dark hair and skin and their parent’s equally light features are anything to go by.

“And they’re not…?” Cas asks, always more direct in his questioning than the brothers.

“Nope, 100% human,” Garth assures them, not at all offended by the question.

“Congrats, man,” Dean says, clapping the other hunter on the back.  

“Garth, you know you can retire, right? Stay home with the kids?” Sam asks. “I mean, if this case has taught us anything it’s that there’s plenty of people out there to pick up the slack.”

“A hunter for a parent isn’t easy,” Dean agrees solemnly.

Garth nods. “Dudes, trust me, I know. If it weren’t for the whole family connections deal, I would’ve passed this one off, too. I’m happier at home with Bess and the twins.” He looks between Dean and Cas, then adds, pointedly, “Same advice for you two, you know.”

“That probably ain’t gonna happen,” Dean admits.

But Sam notices that Cas seems to be taking the other hunter’s words to heart. Sam doubts either of them would ever completely give up hunting, but even he has noticed that his brother, formerly Mr. I Can’t Go a Week Without a Hunt, has seemed far more content at the bunker ever since Cas fell, the Mark of Cain was removed, and Claire came into their lives again. 

Dean clears his throat, then says gruffly, “All right, let’s get this over with. C’mere.”

Before Dean can change his mind and bring his arms back down, Garth latches onto him in a hug, all while Dean shoots Sam a look that clearly warns him not to say a damn thing. Sam adopts his best innocent look, which doesn’t fool anyone.

“Next time you’re in Wisconsin!” Garth offers as he jogs backwards a few steps before spinning and returning to the motel room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah ok, I definitely lied awhile back when I said one or two more chapters. NOW it's one or two more chapters left to go.
> 
> Also, credit to the writers of 11x07 "Plush" for some of the dialogue in this chapter.


	15. See How I'm Not Punching Him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little chapter. Fluff, snark, and Whedon. What more could you need?

**Iowa**

 

They’re an exit or two past Mitchell’s inn when Dean pulls the Impala off the highway to refuel and stretch their legs. Although none of them had said anything, they’d all given the exit to the inn almost wistful glances as they’d driven by. But, by unspoken agreement, they’d decided to drive through the night back to Kansas, unless some other obstacle gets thrown in their path.

Sam takes it upon himself to pick up some snacks and drinks while Dean gets gas, and Cas laughs to himself at the banter between the brothers as to what constitutes acceptable road food.

“I ain’t eating an apple!” Dean warns Sam. “Not unless it’s in some sort of pie formation.”

“How have you not keeled over from a heart-attack?” Sam shakes his head.

“Because I’m awesome.”

“Or because I used to clean your arteries when I had Grace,” Cas interjects calmly. Dean makes what Cas has learned is often called a “fish-face” of surprise while Sam tosses back his head in a laugh.

“Wh-what?” Dean sputters.

Cas shrugs. “It seemed silly to only heal wounds when only a little more Grace would cure other ills. Your liver, for instance.”

“Thanks,” Dean mutters, clearly torn between embarrassment, annoyance, and genuine thanks.

“Told ya,” Sam gloats.

“Actually, Sam, your cholesterol was always much higher. Genetics, I would assume,” Cas says to the younger brother, whose head jerks in Cas’ direction in shock.

“Ha! Guess even your rabbit food can’t save you!” Dean crows. “Now go get me my snacks.”

“That’s not what he meant...never mind,” Sam grumbles, flipping his brother off and going into the store.

While Dean pumps gas, Cas takes the opportunity to stretch his legs and enjoy some fresh air. Leaning against the bumper, he makes small talk with Dean as the numbers on the pump rise higher and higher. Sometimes it amazes Cas just how much fuel the Impala uses, but he would never voice an opinion that could be construed as a slight against Baby in the presence of Dean. He does value his life, after all.

“Still can’t believe we hauled ass all the way out there and I didn’t get to gank a single fanged bastard,” Dean complains as he closes the gas cap and stands to return the pump to its holder.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll have another case in a day or two,” Cas replies dryly.

“We better. Gotta get my quota in for the month,” Dean agrees, then frowns as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “Those assholes.”

Cas leans forward in curiosity, and Dean holds out the phone to him, revealing a picture of Harry Spangler with a very attractive woman, who, admittedly, looks a bit shell-shocked. Cas doesn’t get a chance to read the caption before Dean brings the phone back and starts tapping out a reply.

“Why did he send that picture?”

“Because he’s a douchebag,” Dean replies absently, then stops his reply when the phone begins actually ringing. “What?” he answers, putting the phone on speaker.

“You see that picture?” Harry chimes. “We got the ghost, saved the girl, got a number. How’d _your_ hunt go?”

“Well, my days of not taking you seriously are definitely coming to a middle,” Dean snarks, and Cas inwardly puffs up in pride at the realization that he recognizes the _Firefly_ quote. Apparently, Harry does, too.

“Yeah, whatever, _Mal_. Feel free to call us whenever you have something you can’t handle.” And without another word, Harry hangs up on his end.

“Like I said: douchebag,” Dean remarks, staring at his phone like it has personally offended him. The picture of Harry and the girl is back up on the screen. “I mean, she’s cute, but I think I win,” he adds, nodding at Cas with a wink that makes Cas roll his eyes, though he does smile a little.

“You’re not going to send a picture of me to him, are you?” Cas asks in disapproval.

Dean’s offended look switches focus from the phone to Cas. “What? Fuck no. You’re not some conquest, Cas.” Suddenly, Dean’s face brightens deviously. “Although...keep making that face.”

“What face?”

“That one. You know, your smitey one.”

Unsure why Dean is making such a request, Cas automatically scowls, at which point, Dean raises his camera and snaps a picture. Then, chuckling to himself, Dean begins typing on his phone.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, approaching Dean and standing over his shoulder in an attempt to read his message.

“Well, since we’re on a _Firefly_ kick…” Dean explains, then holds up the phone so that Cas can see what he has sent Harry. Underneath the unhappy picture of Cas, the message reads, “Remember: Castiel can kill you with his brain.”

“You know that’s not actually possible, especially not since I fell,” Cas reminds Dean.

“Yeah, but _they_ don’t know that. Keep the little bastards on their toes,” Dean laughs in self-congratulation, then slings an arm around Cas’ shoulders just as Sam emerges from the store. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very nearly titled this chapter "Captain Tightpants".
> 
> Credit to the writers of _Firefly_ for all quotes, and the title.
> 
> Also, I know I've used the "Cas is the reason Dean doesn't have a heart attack" in one of my non-series works, but I'm pretty sure I haven't used it in this series until now. Let me know if I'm wrong. :)


	16. An Average Day

**Kansas**

 

The drive home from her second day of classes is draining in an entirely different way than yesterday: instead of exhaustion from the flip side of an adrenaline rush, thanks to an inconvenient hex-bag, it’s exhaustion of a far more mental sort. Claire still can’t believe how much reading she has for her classes already (although, no Spanish this week, the professor having emailed the class saying he would be taking the rest of the week off for "health" reasons).

She indulges herself with an overpriced iced coffee on the way home, then wonders if the guys’ll be back for dinner or if she should pick up something. Deciding on a combination of the two, Claire makes a pit-stop to grab a couple frozen pizzas. Even if they do something else for dinner, she figures they can just save the pizzas for later.

When she rolls up into the bunker’s garage, she’s relieved—not that she’d ever admit it—to see the glossy black hulk of the Impala in her prized position in the center of the garage. With her backpack, grocery bag, and purse looped over one arm and her coffee in the other hand, she strolls up to the boots sticking out from under the car, nudging one slightly with her toe.

“What you’d do to Baby this time?” she asks cheerfully.

“Fucking cobblestone,” Dean grumbles, sliding out from underneath. “Whatcha got there?” he asks, gesturing towards the grocery bags with a...socket wrench? Yeah...socket wrench. (Not that Claire gives two craps about what a socket wrench is, no matter how much Dean tries to explain tools to her.)

“Coupla frozen pizzas. I got a meat lover’s and a veggie, in case Sam’s sticking around.”

“Veggie?” Dean says with disdain, though his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Christ, Claire, we take you in, provide an...ok...home, and now you’re going to betray us with that crap?”

“There’s pepperoni on it, too,” she grins.

“That’s my girl,” Dean says, clearly without thinking, judging by the somewhat surprised and awkward expression on his face. Claire gives him an out by pretending to scowl.

 

Dinner is a pretty relaxed affair: Dean and Cas look just as tired as Claire feels from the long drive back, and Sam only stops in for a few minutes to grab a few slices before heading to the bunker library. Apparently, whatever case Charlie (and a hunter named Krissy, who Claire’s heard of before, but has never met) is on has turned up an entire network of shapeshifters or something, and so Sam is still coordinating with hunters on it. 

When Sam returns to the kitchen to dump his empty plate in the sink, Claire stands up and stretches.

“I’m going to bed,” she announces with a yawn. “Stupid nine a.m. lab tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam says from the sink, while Dean and Cas both perk up at the implied question, obviously both interested. “How’d your first two days go? Didn’t really get many details.”

Claire shrugs. “It was boring.”

“‘Course it’s boring, Claire. It’s school,” Dean scoffs, earning a glare from both his partner and brother. “What?” 

“Dean,” Cas admonishes.

“Oh c’mon,” Dean adds indignantly before ducking his head in exaggerated demureness and gesturing to Claire to continue.

“What?” Claire asks in unconscious imitation of Dean. “They were just normal classes.”

She notices that all three of them relax minutely at this assessment, and she considers letting it stop there, except that Dean adds to Sam, as though he’d won a bet, “See? ‘Normal.’ Toldja.”

“Yeah, you know,” she cuts in, “boring lectures, lame classmates, too much homework already, rescuing my professor from choking to death ‘cause of a hex bag…”

“Sonofabitch!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I borrowed from Dean and Claire's school convo in 11x12. Maybe it's cheating, but I like bringing in canon whenever I can.
> 
> Oh and in case anyone's wondering -- Charlie and Krissy's crew definitely kick ass and take out the rest of the shapeshifters, no problem.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all folks!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Sometimes I need all the love I can get. :)


End file.
